tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-20103966740739171032024-02-21T21:29:47.392-08:00mind of a gusChelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.comBlogger59125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-10781277025646451802015-11-13T02:06:00.003-08:002015-11-13T02:06:23.290-08:00The Grad School Time BubbleI loved reading the Harry Potter books when I was a kid. So, I don't know why it came as a surprise to me that I am loving the fantasy fiction world.<br />
<br />
Two summers ago when I was driving to Canada and back, I decided that I needed a good long series of books to listen to on my lone journey across the vast western United States. I have crossed paths with a number of nerdy friends in my life, and it seemed as if each had told me to read this series called ... something with time in the title. The circle of time? Or something like that. Oh yeah, the Wheel of Time. I had never even had desire to read them because there are 14 books and they have cover art that looks like this:<br />
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and they range from 650 to 1000 pages each. You can see why it was a really hard sell for all my nerds. I was desperate with a summer of more than 60 hours of driving a head of me, I needed something to sustain the trek with me. So, I gave bought the first book and committed myself to probably the longest relationship of my life (if you don't count the characters on Grey's Anatomy).<br />
<br />Now, a year and a half later I have finished the whole series plus a few others. Abashedly, I will list them below:<br />
<br />Wheel of Time series 1-14 (462 hours)<br />Ruby Red series 1-3 by Kerstin Gier (31 hours)<br />The Lunar Chronicles 1-3 by Marissa Meyer (44 hours *Not including the latest release this week, I haven't listened to)<br />Dragonlance Chronicles 1-3 by Margaret Weis & Tracy Hickman (52 Hours)<br />Mistborn Series 1-5 by Brandon Sanderson (105 hours)<br />Elantris by Brandon Sanderson (27 hours)<br />Starlight Archive series 1-2 by Brandon Sanderson (94 hours)<br />The Belgariad series by David Eddings (10 hours **I've only listened to the first one)<br />______________________Grand total = 825 _________________<br />
<br />In my defense, I listen to them at 1.5x speed so I only literally listened to 550 hours. And over an 18 month period is only 30 hours a month. I feel like this admission is on the verge of impressive but leaning more toward embarrassing.<br />
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All of this is a long segway into a perfect analogy I discovered today.<br />
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So, in the Mistborn books, there are these people who are born with the ability to transform the metals inside their bodies in order to do super human things. They call it burning a metal. One of the metals that can be burned is called Cadmium, which would produce a time bubble around the person burning the metal. Inside the bubble, time would appear to be moving normally but time has slowed so those outside the bubble are moving so fast it's a blur.<br />
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I have decided that grad school is like a time bubble. While you're in it life is this weird slow motion but still normal life and everyone in your life is outside the bubble just moving at these warp speeds achieving all these amazing things.<br />
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Because being in college for 10 years really messes with a person's psyche. Living on ramen, ddp, doing homework, and never knowing what your schedule will be semester to semester does not lend to feeling like an adult.<br />
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My hope is that when I get done with school and get an adult job, the time bubble will go away and maybe I'll even end up at my dream job.<br />
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<br />Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-45831368505334721572015-11-07T20:11:00.000-08:002015-11-07T20:11:17.584-08:00Papa Smurf..As He is Called in my PhoneEarlier this week, I woke up to the sound of lawn equipment outside my bedroom window. My thoughts instantly went to my dad. For my entire life my dad has done the lawn. He loves the bit of yard they have and takes pride in cultivating it.<br />
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While my dad is a public school teacher, he also does lawns on the side. In fact, for my childhood he had his own lawn business "Green Akers" before he went back to school to become a teacher. This has had an effect on me and my life in so many ways.<br />
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I know this is nerdy, but bear with me...I have been studying a theory called attachment theory quite a bit this semester. The gist of it assumes that the way a baby's primary caregiver attends to them will ultimately lead the child to develop an understanding of self and others within interpersonal relationships. The child could end up secure, avoidant, or ambivalent and this attachment style could follow the child into future romantic relationships. While doing all this research I would try and remember pieces about my childhood and my "caregiver." As it turns out, my dad is in most of my early memories. My mom worked early and since my dad was an self employed, he would get us up and ready in the morning.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqreCpIE8-qEhOSyzJN9RzuNEGgRo68mmQaSWOg3MYKnUK5YT6RGjBYWgPk0tHGrZWUvhfJ9gXv0ck_g6yTpt9KndOkkhyphenhyphenSvxZisxsxCcvKEIEpph7IhZo3DTB_8-ZCtp9qMK4nmbDm0/s1600/mom+and+dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDqreCpIE8-qEhOSyzJN9RzuNEGgRo68mmQaSWOg3MYKnUK5YT6RGjBYWgPk0tHGrZWUvhfJ9gXv0ck_g6yTpt9KndOkkhyphenhyphenSvxZisxsxCcvKEIEpph7IhZo3DTB_8-ZCtp9qMK4nmbDm0/s320/mom+and+dad.jpg" width="240" /></a>I have memories of him splashing (probably sprinkling) water on my face when I would refuse to get up in the morning. I can see like it was yesterday, him sitting at the table with us eating cereal, making a Donald Duck sneeze which projected his rolly chair across the kitchen. I remember going with him to the store when my sister was sick to get pedialyte and then watched as he rocked her to sleep. And how on Thursdays, he would pick me and my brothers up from elementary school so we wouldn't have to take the bus home but my first grade brain mixed up Thursday for Tuesday and I ended up waiting for hours for him but I knew he'd come. I loved it when he'd let me go with him when he was running an errand so we could just talk. I have so many memories of him taking care of me, and love him so much for it.<br />
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Soon, after first grade my dad got his teaching degree and started teaching full time. He is an amazing teacher and can understand 2nd graders (and most children for that matter) on a level I'll never know. He was teaching school full time, doing lawns on the side, helping to rise 4 children, and then he decided to get a masters degree while continuing to do all those things. I don't know how he did it. When I was getting my masters I didn't have a family or even a job outside of working for the school.<br />
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My dad also taught us how to work and he taught his daughters how to become strong women who could do any thing they put their minds to. I was really bad (and still am) at doing yard work, but whenever I need or wanted some extra money, he always lets me go do lawns with him. So, not only did we see him work hard but he let us learn how to work for the things we want and have.<br />
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Oh, and we love to travel together. As an adult there are tons of adventures we've gone on. He went to Idaho to help me find a place to live when I thought I was going to go to school there. We spent 10 days in Australia and New Zealand. We went to Chicago and saw a Cubs vs Diamondbacks game at Wrigley field. We went to Disney World, and he went on the Hollywood tower of terror with me (even though he'd had neck surgery earlier that year). He went to New York with a me and my brother and a group of teenagers. He drove cross country with me when I worked in Virginia. I went with just him and my mom to Disney land a few years ago. And most recently, I dragged him to Tucson to help me move into my new house. <br />
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All of this to say, that I love my dad. When I lived with my parents it would drive me crazy to wake up to the lawnmower, blower, or line trimmer at some wretchedly early hour of the morning. But now, anytime I hear lawn equipment it makes me smile and think of my loving dad and all he has done for me. Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-25359013366524584172015-10-16T12:09:00.000-07:002015-10-16T12:09:59.462-07:00Drowning <div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I have never done creative writing. I am an all academic writing type girl. However, I wrote this last semester at a time when I was feeling particularly bogged down with life and expectations. Since this semester is progressively more stressful (I like to call it the perfect storm of a semester), I felt like reminding myself that I made it through last semester and can make it through this one too.<br />
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I have never been in a situation of
possibly drowning, unless you count the times I was held under water while
horse playing in the pool with my brothers as a little girl. But, as a consumer
of mass media, I can imagine what it would be like to drown. <o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-indent: .5in;">
I would be engulfed by a mass of
liquid that is simultaneously strong and consuming while being fluid and
illusory. My body would be extended making the length from my fingertips to my tiptoes
feel lengths taller than they actually are. I imagine that while my legs and
arms are flailing back and forth as fast and often as I physically can make them go, the
time will actually be ticking by slower than the laws of physics say are
possible. My lungs begin to burn with hatred for this element that has
sustained my life for so long but is now betraying me by trying to infiltrate
areas it doesn’t belong. Just as my lungs begin to give up on ever being filled
with air again, the flailing of my arms and legs pays off and I gasp. I’ve been
projected above the surface of the water and my lungs are gasping for as much
air as possible. This brief moment of lifesaving air renews my body’s energy to
take up the fight with the betraying substance once again. This renewal,
however, is promptly followed by a repeat of the struggle with the meek hope of
another replenishment of the ever-distant substance of oxygen.<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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This process of being pulled
underwater and struggling to get above water to catch a gasp of air is the same
process that I go through as a PhD student. Every day is filled with projects
to do, papers to write, articles to read, classes to prepare, research ideas to
flush out, and statistical designs to grasp. One on top of the other begins to
feels as if each deadline and expectation weighs down, ultimately engulfing me
making it impossible for me to reach the surface or even remember that there
still is a surface. I don’t know why, possibly just out of wrote or
subconscious movements, I keep pushing my way up. Thrashing through the sludge
of internal and external expectations and then finally, gasp. With all the odds
leading to more stress and less understanding, a moment comes when you’ve hit
the surface for a moment and intake the briefest of wonderful breaths. That
defying moment comes with a sudden understanding of a difficult concept or even
just a positive comment at the bottom of a paper you spent countless hours on.
These small gulps of affirmation act as a sense of renewal which encourage a plunge
back into the water that is doctoral candidacy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-10194411241708372072015-08-23T03:43:00.000-07:002015-08-23T03:43:57.899-07:00I Text Dead PeopleA couple days ago, I picked up the phone to text my friend. But he's dead so I couldn't. Instead, a copious amount of tears ensued.<br />
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In grad school we wrote a paper together about the change in broadcast news in 1963 when the networks went from 15 to 30 minutes. We had late night pow wow sessions where we talked all about Cronkite, Huntley, and Brinkley. We read books, news paper articles, and watched clips about them. It was such an interesting story to try and insert ourselves into, even just as flies on the wall. We wanted to understand just a little bit of an era that encompassed so much passion.</div>
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I started watching the show News Room on Amazon Prime, kind of as my last hurrah of binge watching tv series before classes start on Monday. The opening segment of the first season consist of clips of those same famous, ground breaking news reporters: Cronkite, Huntley, and Brinkley. </div>
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Naturally, I wanted to tell Dave about it. Dammit Dave, why do you have to be dead right now? I just wanted to talk to you. </div>
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A few weeks ago, I went to Utah to visit some friends. Camille was in Utah for a book signing and meeting half way is way better than driving 24 hours to Alberta. It also gave me an excuse to stay with Giulia and geek out on Doctor Who. And, like always, when I'm in Utah I try and catch up with my cohort from my masters program so about half of us meet up for dinner in SLC. </div>
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The main reason I went though, was to visit Dave's grave. I missed his funeral and graveside service because I was in Denmark. I knew though, that Dave's adventurous self would have killed me through whatever unconventional ghostly means necessary if I had come home early from my trip. So I continued globetrotting and made it as soon as I could to pay my respects. </div>
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Part of me knows that he is in a better place, he's not in pain now, he wouldn't want me to be sad... all the cliché phrases you hear and say. But, I am sad. </div>
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Driving around Utah and seeing all the places I'd been to with him made me sad. Seeing the grad lab at school made me sad. Remembering the time he saw me cry made me sad. Watching stupid TV shows and instinctively trying to text him makes me sad. Missing him makes me sad. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcNgtZ-NGD2OpoMdH8muOSDYpQzgb_7gwVhygFr2Tpd_t9uPEqJMwbEai9PewUj22rojgsuVkjAeTQ8KXmhG_N4sFOQCyYm9kNA7hTLHoGp2ceEOXmNIQXkIXS4mB3ZERrb4rXTFOIdQ/s1600/IMG_1038.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrcNgtZ-NGD2OpoMdH8muOSDYpQzgb_7gwVhygFr2Tpd_t9uPEqJMwbEai9PewUj22rojgsuVkjAeTQ8KXmhG_N4sFOQCyYm9kNA7hTLHoGp2ceEOXmNIQXkIXS4mB3ZERrb4rXTFOIdQ/s320/IMG_1038.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I love you and I miss you Dave</td></tr>
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Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-70849102493866605542015-07-26T03:13:00.000-07:002015-07-26T04:35:32.567-07:00Yes, I'm still singleI watched <i>Bridget Jones' Diary</i> tonight. I saw many similarities and many differences in our lives. One of each stuck out to me. Her first entry to her last spanned across a years time. In that time, she was still struggling with her weight (similarity) and she had two men fall for her (difference). <br />
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After being humiliated for being single and shamelessly getting pushed on people by her mother, Bridget told herself (as she sang along to <i>All by my self</i>) that she was going to change things in her life and not be single the following year. And what would you know, she kept none of her goals and proceeded to have two separate relationships in that given time. I will have you know, that I may or may not have been singing Celine Dion's chorus of depression while making the same vows to myself on more than one occasion. And so far, my real life story has a number of failed attempts at relationships, awkward first kisses, and a more consistent on-again/off-again relationship with Tinder than any man.<br />
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So, as I lay in bed waiting for the melatonin to set in and kicking myself for not taking two, I decided to hit up pinterest. I typed "motivation for single women" in the search bar, hoping for... I don't know, motivation? Instead, 90% of the items that came up were things like "6 Exercises for a tighter, sexier butt." And ironically enough, the other 10% were quotes like the following: <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9zBpz27GnEQialE888gafiqpjcpLJ3wimIXNe5CZNF27bjcylAxAaD5sDmoZVLH3DuZf7MslJe1KRedh8sQmUFXTa759jNNQoGpEg6ljN7pI7Em6GvsBXIRQ_h14liOvrY7TCYsUTos/s1600/627b2372b76e3a6689b6861f06c338ab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjE9zBpz27GnEQialE888gafiqpjcpLJ3wimIXNe5CZNF27bjcylAxAaD5sDmoZVLH3DuZf7MslJe1KRedh8sQmUFXTa759jNNQoGpEg6ljN7pI7Em6GvsBXIRQ_h14liOvrY7TCYsUTos/s320/627b2372b76e3a6689b6861f06c338ab.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJFcNPsAEVwAdVYPKD9b9kP00ucbprx3T_fgz59Z-WTHnMW7v-tyyzSfofUSkboVVEOZL6-HuI-crXiabLaTuKy1t8ASbqYTGWeqxvK-ezV3mJJgzBfuAEHRekKRPzWODfRXKnVPY1bw/s1600/634707fafd6d1e72a16354dfe9e3fcfc.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJJFcNPsAEVwAdVYPKD9b9kP00ucbprx3T_fgz59Z-WTHnMW7v-tyyzSfofUSkboVVEOZL6-HuI-crXiabLaTuKy1t8ASbqYTGWeqxvK-ezV3mJJgzBfuAEHRekKRPzWODfRXKnVPY1bw/s320/634707fafd6d1e72a16354dfe9e3fcfc.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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So, the motivation I get is to make myself look better for a man and be independent enough that you don't need a man. A bit of an oxymoron if you ask me. </div>
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First of all, PINTEREST, I go to the gym and worry about my weight for me. So that I am happy with myself and to make myself healthier. Not because I am single and need to look better to attract someone. </div>
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Second of all, I really don't understand the world we live in. It is motivational for a father to tell his young daughter that she doesn't need a man in her life. Which leads her to become capable, educated, and independent. But then society tells capable, educated, and independent women that they are too intimidating to men. And every movie out there with romance in the plot has the girl getting the guy because she needs the guy for something, guy helps, guy feels needed, guy and girl hook up. EVEN THE MOVIES ABOUT SMART GIRLS HAVE THE SAME THING! I mean even aside from movies, you all know (or maybe are the one) guys who end up with a girl not because they were MFEO but because she was needy enough to make him feel special and needed. Less often do you see guys fall for the girl who can change her own light bulbs, walk herself to her car in the dark, and carry her own heavy boxes (even if it requires sliding them across the floor). </div>
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This is not meant to be a bitter diatribe of a single person. I actually find myself thinking I am lucky to be single because the effort of a relationship would be way too much to handle while in school. I guess I wanted Pinterest to lead me to someone's blog who is single and not depressed, but instead happy with life, not bitter toward men, and still looking for love while not being desperate about it. That way I could read their journey and be able to relate to a real life single person. And if there were days this fictional person would get down about her single status she'd share how she got out of it. Or, to share ideas about meeting people and leaving your comfort zone (i.e. your pajamas) every once and awhile. </div>
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Since that is not what I found, I thought you know, why don't I just write something? </div>
Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-89602355814016316462013-09-29T16:18:00.001-07:002013-09-29T16:18:36.965-07:00They call me Master ChelsieI am starting to stress out this semester and need an outlet. So, here is to hoping this is the start of a lot of posts on the life of a PhD student.<br />
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In the past six months, a lot has happened.<br />
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<li>Wrote a thesis</li>
<li>Had a new niece (Ashley Marisol Akers)</li>
<li>Defended a thesis </li>
<li>Graduated with a Masters Degree</li>
<li>Became a brides made (congrats Giulia!)</li>
<li>Moved to Tucson, AZ with BFF Alicia</li>
<li>Had a new nephew (Hutchinson Fairbanks)- like it or not buddy!</li>
<li> Started first PhD courses</li>
<li>Started TA job </li>
<li>Ditched house and moved again</li>
<li>Accrued more student loans</li>
<li>Consumed more DDP than humanly possible</li>
<li>Got a personal trainer </li>
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How is it being a PhD student you ask? Well, It takes me at least three hours to read and hopefully understand the readings from each of my two classes. Then, I have to write papers on those readings, and for each of those classes I have a 10-20 page research paper due in December so I have to start developing and writing them now. Don't forget I have 2 hours of office hours for an online class I am TA-ing (I have yet to have a student come...), then I have to read and respond to discussion board questions from that class for three hours a week (think about how much you disliked writing those posts), and now my research team is starting an experiment that I am interviewing people (with a word for word script I am trying to memorize) for 5 straight hours a week. </div>
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On top of this required stuff, I have figured out that I am too poor to survive on anything but ramen noodles and what self respecting 27 year old should live off of ramen, so I am working on getting a second job. With a masters degree, I am qualified to teach at the community college level. However, Rio Salado requires you to take an online class on how to teach an online class before being able to get a job with them. So, thanks to my dad's credit card, I signed up for yet another class in hopes of getting a job teaching with Rio by the end of the year. </div>
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In other words, I need to stop writing this post and go back to analyzing the 6 readings I need to read for my environmental communications class. </div>
Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-2677387806519605312012-09-14T03:00:00.001-07:002012-09-14T03:00:42.950-07:00Hope Came in the Shape of a Drop of BloodPreviously on the Mind of a Gus, I retold an epiphany I had this summer...<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 20px;">I came to the conclusion, on the steps of a monument, commemorating the life of a man with a 19 foot tall statue, that neither me or that girl will ever become someone people will make a 19 foot statue for. We will never be famous. We will never be unique. How can there be unique when there are almost 7 billion people on the earth right now? </span></blockquote>
After my mom read this post (I'm not sure if she is a regular reader or not) her only comment was that I am a cynic when I write. That, I will own up to fully. It is possible that I am a cynic about a lot of things in life. However, hopefully this will make up for a bit of it.<br />
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And now, for the rest of the story:<br />
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Months after this so called epiphany, I was at a pretty low point in my life. Nothing the average Joe hasn't been through in their own lives, but to me it just seemed like God couldn't throw me a freaking bone.<br />
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I was at work, walking from house to house, knocking and ringing doorbells. I had gone through my usual list of affirmations to get myself pumped and positive: I LOVE MY JOB (repeated over and over), I am great at sales, I want a new pair of shoes....But, nobody was answering their doors and I could even hear them inside, "Mom, I think it's someone trying to sell something...shhhh, don't answer it." Erk, that bothered me.<br />
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Anyway, I got a call from my dear brother. It was almost one in the afternoon which means that it was before 10 in the morning for him. It kinda freaked me out because 1.) he never calls and 2.) he is never awake that early. Well, he was calling to check up on me. Oh, I love that kid.<br />
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I spent the next few minutes venting to him about how rough everything in life was going. I found myself saying feeling I must have been having for awhile and had just never said: "I am so frustrated with Heavenly Father. I did everything to make sure I was doing what he wanted me to do and then He put all these stumbling blocks in my way, so why should I go to Him for help."<br />
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Again, I have been stewing on the fact that no one in the world is unique and in that case, why should even God care.<br />
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Adam listened to me and then gently replied with a few comments that gave me some hope back. The first being: if you're gonna have a battle come up in your life, of any sort (in my case depression, anxiety, health problems...) you're gonna have to deal with it. If you deal with it alone or with the help of prescriptions then great. But, if you fight it doing everything you can AND have the Lord next to you helping you, you can only be better off.<br />
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After that, Adam reminded me of the Atonement of Christ. That He lived, bled, and died for each of us individually. I have had numerous accounts in my life where I knew this was true. That Christ knows me personally and that He knows what I'm going through. But I had forgotten.<br />
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Sure, me nor that girl in DC will ever have statues made of us. I will never be the president, or a rock star, or the winner of a nobel peach prize or the pulitzer. But to God and Jesus Christ, I am unique in thousands of ways from anyone else who has ever lived on this earth or who ever will. I believe that when Jesus Christ suffered for our pains, afflictions, and sins, he didn't suffer for them in bulk. He didn't suffer and shed one drop of blood for everyone who will ever experience depression. No, He bled a drop of blood for me, Chelsie Akers and my multiple struggles that were going on during the summer of 2013.<br />
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To some of you, this may seem far fetched or even crazy. But in Adams words "wouldn't it be sad" if it wasn't immensely personal.Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-16693385196100436782012-09-07T01:59:00.000-07:002012-09-07T01:59:02.242-07:00One in Seven Billion<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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This summer, as I was out in DC, I had an epiphany. Bare with me on the retelling of my thoughts...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBZaZFte6rmFEdeFzUhDj0vOnhl_EWw7xEGhK5I80VP0_C1LrBstV2cbRvXvGHic8JkNSCGg8kGvHPePcU4X42FgH3RO4jejpkj2lStmAGEaWhAC5MxJnZrdxBgtMgw2R5VY4QBKtM30/s1600/800px-Lincoln_Memorial,_July_30,_2011_IMG_4614.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixBZaZFte6rmFEdeFzUhDj0vOnhl_EWw7xEGhK5I80VP0_C1LrBstV2cbRvXvGHic8JkNSCGg8kGvHPePcU4X42FgH3RO4jejpkj2lStmAGEaWhAC5MxJnZrdxBgtMgw2R5VY4QBKtM30/s320/800px-Lincoln_Memorial,_July_30,_2011_IMG_4614.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I was walking up the stairs to the Lincoln memorial and there was a class of some sort (I assume a "close up" type experience) coming up the stairs along side me. I slowed down to let them pass and to watch them. Sure, call me a creeper, I like to consider myself a people watcher.<br />
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As they pass, a girl with a camera and a notebook, lags behind a little. I watch as she pulls away from the group and slowly looks at the monument while taking a few photos and writing a thing or two. Then she just stops and "ponders" for a bit before she heads back to the group.<br />
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As I watched her, there were many things going through my head. First, this girl wants to be different. She is probably known by her peers as the nerd, or the artist, or the deep thinker. Her teacher probably assumes that she will go on to be something amazing. Second, she has probably had so much positive and negative attention from her being "different" that she personally believes that she will grow up to be something amazing as well. Third, all of it is in vain. Her trying to be different, the accolades from her teachers, peers, and even her own hopes and dreams, they are all in vain.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-nFNKb_jjIUEQ_gNxRmj174oUXRmptjGTl-lTeOlOmssEI0yVO_sF8FQecYZ8jwe8QzAajUDpPmFrlkPczw3HZxRFq4BO00gA7y8hg28wkoJ1jtA2CWyo486XPRgQHO0CQ7byfDwKii0/s1600/individuality.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-nFNKb_jjIUEQ_gNxRmj174oUXRmptjGTl-lTeOlOmssEI0yVO_sF8FQecYZ8jwe8QzAajUDpPmFrlkPczw3HZxRFq4BO00gA7y8hg28wkoJ1jtA2CWyo486XPRgQHO0CQ7byfDwKii0/s320/individuality.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div>
How many famous photographers are out there right now? Well, I googled it. One page lists 50, another 99, and another only 12. Out of the almost 7 billion people on earth right now, there are TWELVE famous photographers. What are her chances of growing up and being one of those twelve. Yup, I did the math these are her chances: 1.7142857e-09. I don't even know what that means besides, that her chances SUCK!<br />
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Well, lets cross photographer of her life goal list and go to writer. She doodled a little, maybe she could write something amazing about the Lincoln Memorial that will change peoples lives, move people to recycle more, stop wars, and even convince addicts to stop using. Or, she could stop kidding herself because in all of time, there have only been 14,510 books written by popular female authors. ALL OF TIME. And does she really think she can compete with Anne Frank, Jane Austene, Margaret Mitchell, <strike>Stephanie Meyer, </strike>Harriet Beecher Stowe, Anne Bronte, Ayn Rand, or Harper Lee? No, I think she better throw in the towel.<br />
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For that matter, how many people in the world have said "when I'm rich and famous"? Let's think about it, how many famous people are there really? In comparison to the population of the future, current, and past earth, there weren't that many famous people.<br />
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I came to the conclusion, on the steps of a monument, commemorating the life of a man with a 19 foot tall statue, that neither me or that girl will ever become someone people will make a 19 foot statue for. We will never be famous. We will never be unique. How can there be unique when there are almost 7 billion people on the earth right now? <br />
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As this thought permeated my mind for months, I think it depressed me. What is this all for? Why am I selling pest control? Well to pay for school, but why am I going to school? Well to get a good job, but why do I care if I have a good job? Well, to have money, but why do I need money? To do amazing things. Why do I need to do amazing things? Won't it all be the same if I try really hard to become someone important and fail (because I only have a 1.7142857e-09 chance of being important) or if I just sit in a movie theater for the rest of my life watching movies and eating popcorn (it would have to be at a harkins theater because they have DDP).<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLWF9KIk3DQ0CuDHCtErBi33JmjsgQLiDsRiq4h64Xx_ayqy6daafckIhsV_AHDMO2od-1l_uyVsFHsYoUCSiVXdtQiYcuVFsDc1uwZnz-QeoOsT4HQDv_wK5MA8c1a1uRHzCODczDbU/s1600/depression+pic.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzLWF9KIk3DQ0CuDHCtErBi33JmjsgQLiDsRiq4h64Xx_ayqy6daafckIhsV_AHDMO2od-1l_uyVsFHsYoUCSiVXdtQiYcuVFsDc1uwZnz-QeoOsT4HQDv_wK5MA8c1a1uRHzCODczDbU/s320/depression+pic.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/2011/10/adventures-in-depression.html" target="_blank">(This is an amazing post on depression) </a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
With this depressing thought bouncing around in my head for months, I had another experience that paralleled this one, which is a lot less depressing. Actually, it brought hope back to me. That however, will have to be told in the next post.<br />
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To be continued...<br />
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<br />Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-75251998446522984102012-06-08T23:11:00.001-07:002012-06-08T23:11:20.013-07:00A Year to Live LifeWhat would you do if you had a year to do whatever you wanted? By this I mean no school, no work and all your bills had been pre-paid for the year, even leaving you the same average amount of spending money that you have when you work. <br />
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First, I would take an entire month to not leave the house. I would sleep 10+ hours a day, literally during the day. I'd then wake up some time in the evening and watch countless movies, tv shows, and even throw in some books to read when I got tired of watching tv. The goal for that month would be to 1) interact with no human being (unless they were taking my order for food delivery) and 2) to make up all the hours of sleep I've missed in my life. <br />
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Second, to stay on my goal of solitude and rejuvenation, I would drive my little red Prius to California and I would spend my days on the beach and my nights I'd sleep in my car. There'd be no need for a suitcase of clothes because I'd live in my swim suit, so there'd be plenty of room to make a bed in the back of my Prius (yet to be named). I could do that for at least another month of my free life.<br />
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With both longing and dread I would leave California and head back to Arizona. I would spend the next ten months living on a very loose and flexible schedule:<br />
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<span style="color: #38761d;">Pick up Rachel and Nathanael and go to the park or movies or go swimming </span></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7OiyP3RQ9oxvkKL97hrJujBe6KAhRb6e3g53schouQO19t27KJ0DHflc4N1q8rvNkfupDoeb1xxERj0HZyivINYJu-1W6jMzKPBiAkTFF99ggy-fGwyPePgFEteymlUjV3Lu383-384/s640/blogger-image-454234182.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhb7OiyP3RQ9oxvkKL97hrJujBe6KAhRb6e3g53schouQO19t27KJ0DHflc4N1q8rvNkfupDoeb1xxERj0HZyivINYJu-1W6jMzKPBiAkTFF99ggy-fGwyPePgFEteymlUjV3Lu383-384/s200/blogger-image-454234182.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPrcF5IkzLn6YpXPA2NH0T5eXAXJvk-Qm1-gKyFvqv7wTVD8FonLUKHgW06gXgyFReZjbNzzHcGQjdo6PoWDzhxw1VIpo-JSY97nCHHzMI6PvVqdd9of8kX3jAEAoAyeo8Im33PWujOas/s640/blogger-image--850500284.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPrcF5IkzLn6YpXPA2NH0T5eXAXJvk-Qm1-gKyFvqv7wTVD8FonLUKHgW06gXgyFReZjbNzzHcGQjdo6PoWDzhxw1VIpo-JSY97nCHHzMI6PvVqdd9of8kX3jAEAoAyeo8Im33PWujOas/s200/blogger-image--850500284.jpg" width="200" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTID_IEurqG_rmeztmjwUFAQ0aibXnSXPUrUb8YE0UBj2anHQgQxVSI6Ozs3WCllAD3gE-XEKMrWnnfvRlJqWpE5YfTksT5bkk2A2L0yCAKIIzotmWrbdc6r0GEt4PzIvo_wrwj58lUwg/s640/blogger-image--2084726002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTID_IEurqG_rmeztmjwUFAQ0aibXnSXPUrUb8YE0UBj2anHQgQxVSI6Ozs3WCllAD3gE-XEKMrWnnfvRlJqWpE5YfTksT5bkk2A2L0yCAKIIzotmWrbdc6r0GEt4PzIvo_wrwj58lUwg/s200/blogger-image--2084726002.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
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<span style="color: #38761d;">Go outside and garden </span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;"> </span><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikE7pdyICYy7UCqQn2AKbvGkzvaeg11LogEQlzK2NqUex1iLDcJZEqdxBUJKjoa6yra9CVL_LHiwAIBDrL5RvgrZ1eriNgsyAQLwhzraknBLxZpB02RS4bm1sVCTmzRlK_ROE-DFMNAow/s1600/organicvegetables.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikE7pdyICYy7UCqQn2AKbvGkzvaeg11LogEQlzK2NqUex1iLDcJZEqdxBUJKjoa6yra9CVL_LHiwAIBDrL5RvgrZ1eriNgsyAQLwhzraknBLxZpB02RS4bm1sVCTmzRlK_ROE-DFMNAow/s200/organicvegetables.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;">Go to the gym or on a bike ride</span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="color: #741b47; font-size: x-large;">PM</span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;">Go to Lindsay's and Jared's to play with Ainsley</span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;">Cook something</span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;">Sip DDP as I read a book on the porch </span></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;">Do an activity - paint/decorate a room, sew a quilt, take a photography class...</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKZtcb3rvTCbItSfbpVcEK4QH81HxDe1DoS5-xn8Smn3nAB1eOyVsfy8dcFg5WostQuibanCfTtLxwMXzYjO93LixvELgubTcdTUBFrm1oMMbn0uvooNWNrdjH4MvU2voqRHh5Ta4-tc0/s640/blogger-image-1839437324.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="171" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKZtcb3rvTCbItSfbpVcEK4QH81HxDe1DoS5-xn8Smn3nAB1eOyVsfy8dcFg5WostQuibanCfTtLxwMXzYjO93LixvELgubTcdTUBFrm1oMMbn0uvooNWNrdjH4MvU2voqRHh5Ta4-tc0/s200/blogger-image-1839437324.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #38761d;">Go to the movies/ dinner with the family - Mattas with whole family, gay bar tacos with Adam, Claim Jumpers with Hannah, Oggies with Corey, or Logan's Steak House with Mom and Dad</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjd8dRhtO-hKunaWyR1r5x7LbJ-ac3XRZ1ayVjMWDZlbDU02FQUWmPTyGf3HXLp5WdG2v5Irb_BlhvGAat9NTajlXy71kAJBU5xGQKzlBmxenZ_Imk5Nom8GroXLDZeB_r0UJjJe35EZA/s1600/Colorized+2+.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="127" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjd8dRhtO-hKunaWyR1r5x7LbJ-ac3XRZ1ayVjMWDZlbDU02FQUWmPTyGf3HXLp5WdG2v5Irb_BlhvGAat9NTajlXy71kAJBU5xGQKzlBmxenZ_Imk5Nom8GroXLDZeB_r0UJjJe35EZA/s200/Colorized+2+.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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After a few months of this regimen, I would take another road trip and head up to Calgary to impose on Camille and Kyle. They'd probably get sick of me after the first week, I know how hard it can be to have house guests... But while I'm taking up residency in their basement (one of my favourite places in the world), I'd cook them meals (since they'd unfortunately still be working), clean, shovel snow (they'd have to teach me how), run their errands, get the mail, pack lunches... I'd practically be a house elf and I'd love every minute of it. In fact, if they'd have me, I might even spend two months of my year there. One when it's beautiful outside to experience Alberta in it's prime and one in the winter when it's miserable, just to say I've experienced a Canadian winter. <br />
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Then, in the middle of this euphoric year a fairy would come and grant me one lifetime dream. She would pay for me to get helicopter lessons. I would then add this into my daily schedule and live as happy as could be!<br />
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This, my friends, is what I would do if I had a year to just live my life. </div>
<br />Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-66295225320296329682012-05-20T18:53:00.000-07:002012-05-20T18:53:14.798-07:00Dinner, Dessert, & Dinero<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
As I have said before, my job can be hard. It takes a lot to stay motivated and motivation is the key to success. So, I made it a goal to see more and do more in VA and DC while I am here this year. Even though I knew, my slumber would feel the loss greatly, I decided to go ahead and take a night on the town. </div>
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My Moxie BFF (you, me and JB) Trina, went to the shopping center at Fairfax Corner with the sole purpose of getting a CupCake. As to not waist the trip, we decided to make a day of it by going for dinner too. After walking around and looking at our choices, we decided on FanFare Eatery. </div>
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We decided to eat out side because the weather has been amazing the last few days. </div>
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They had one of those fancy Coke machines, which normally always have </div>
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DDP. But this one didn't. However, before I could get too sad, I did see that</div>
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they had Pibb Zero. Never seen it before in my life but it was pretty good. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3gztWzcglBdG0qMkeAPRY5cQKTPavPekpd95q1jVX1UEIANMSUyF0AB18EiaPqi13vE8WGoZHo9JRTD8Wa5t7CyFB9mm98CIIjiIBIyu6pQb_rY7RMNnOFoWBP95wiMj5qTrzgVPv5s/s640/blogger-image--1401642906.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir3gztWzcglBdG0qMkeAPRY5cQKTPavPekpd95q1jVX1UEIANMSUyF0AB18EiaPqi13vE8WGoZHo9JRTD8Wa5t7CyFB9mm98CIIjiIBIyu6pQb_rY7RMNnOFoWBP95wiMj5qTrzgVPv5s/s320/blogger-image--1401642906.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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These boneless wings were cheaper than the wings with bone in them </div>
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which doesn't usually happen. And, I am not going to lie, I waited </div>
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to eat them last but was too full, so they are in my fridge for lunch </div>
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tomorrow. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8pVL2KxQ_sSMg-BG1RDzItqxyDZIXInfM2UxT7VBXWFFAvT1GS-ykB0u3N4-ViPS-86YVzyD-25e3PGFQS2QcRVsgGdAqXQii38Z_WdBHMAGtP2eCztd1IBCXxdbHywPCESQSnjWMI7I/s640/blogger-image--558157257.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8pVL2KxQ_sSMg-BG1RDzItqxyDZIXInfM2UxT7VBXWFFAvT1GS-ykB0u3N4-ViPS-86YVzyD-25e3PGFQS2QcRVsgGdAqXQii38Z_WdBHMAGtP2eCztd1IBCXxdbHywPCESQSnjWMI7I/s320/blogger-image--558157257.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The mac & cheese was super good. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn22AUcINCvyha639gHVWnBvDl5LqD5ZGNrSLdofsDefdG5WjsRoaXU3zMrIcV2u66NTaIvCL5esSWOl_xbs6k62agxJtfkOrJKvTSZXmIwO-tWVCfBqHTJKiLyBJtxEHvZRthySCVqmA/s640/blogger-image-1861547376.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjn22AUcINCvyha639gHVWnBvDl5LqD5ZGNrSLdofsDefdG5WjsRoaXU3zMrIcV2u66NTaIvCL5esSWOl_xbs6k62agxJtfkOrJKvTSZXmIwO-tWVCfBqHTJKiLyBJtxEHvZRthySCVqmA/s320/blogger-image-1861547376.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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These onion rings were probably the worst I have </div>
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ever had in my life. I felt like I was eating a </div>
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brick of salt. I couldn't even eat one whole one. </div>
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It might just be me, but I didn't know that you </div>
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get chili on nachos...? They were pretty average </div>
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nachos, better than buffalo wild wings, but not </div>
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amazing. </div>
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We then made our way over to Cupcakes Actually for dessert. As we walked over there, we had to forge our way through hoards of people. Then, suddenly, Trina stopped mid stride. When I looked back to see what caused the conundrum, Trina was looking down at the ground at a folded up twenty dollar bill. After a good amount of time, with her staring at it, I finally nudged her to pick it up. "But I feel GUILTY." "TRINA, if you don't pick it up someone else will! Just get it!" She did pick it up, and it ended up being a good deal for me too because there were TWO twenty dollar bills and she shared her "dream" money with me. Needless to say, I guess I am heartless because I felt no guilt and she still does even after it is all spent. </div>
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Any who, we made it to the cupcakes with cash in hand.</div>
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This is a raspberry cupcake with vanilla bean butter cream </div>
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frosting, and it is the best cupcake I have ever had in my life. </div>
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Yes it beats Sprinkles and DC CupCake Co. </div>
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I am glad that I got out of the house for the weekend and even more glad to have had such a fun night. Thank you and I am sorry to the person who lost forty bucks last night! </div>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-39104978559246389092012-05-16T16:58:00.001-07:002012-05-16T19:55:51.016-07:00Get Your Garden Outa the Gutter!Something else you gotta love about Virginia. <br />
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Not only are there weeds in the rain gutters but you can also see little old ladies trying to pick them with garbage picking tongs. :) <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQNurZ68BovXyA5vcTP8BiZcK_Bs82d_P4VmBIoEUTk7f96tMhrM8tPjlZL5jMgvgP2S2M7dEEnUz-o5jfdpAoFPulY8BBBSHFY0GooFwBXCrHrCE8dqR14EVj8-0RHFVAS5nJ5f-s_I/s640/blogger-image--1888936406.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHQNurZ68BovXyA5vcTP8BiZcK_Bs82d_P4VmBIoEUTk7f96tMhrM8tPjlZL5jMgvgP2S2M7dEEnUz-o5jfdpAoFPulY8BBBSHFY0GooFwBXCrHrCE8dqR14EVj8-0RHFVAS5nJ5f-s_I/s320/blogger-image--1888936406.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I was trying to be stealthy as I took this photo and I was a little far away<br />and the good ol Iphone just didn't know what to focus on. <br />But you can see her there, picking away! </td></tr>
</tbody></table>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-81404397740394979362012-05-13T18:33:00.000-07:002012-05-13T18:33:28.611-07:00Peeves the Poltergeist*** Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. If you are reading this and think I am talking about you or something you do, it probably is.<br />
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<a href="http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/1130-things-peeved.html" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">11. Describe 10 pet peeves you have.</a><br />
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<ol>
<li>It drives me crazy when people leave the sponge in the sink. Do they not realize that if you leave it there, it will stay wet and the bacteria will multiply and then it will start to stink? </li>
<li>There are some noises that drive me insane. Loud gulping noises (I can handle one or two but repeatedly? Just kill me!) and insidious scratching is worse than nails on a chalk board. </li>
<li>Skirting around the issue. Sometimes, people like to just hint or beat around the bush when asking me to do something for them. HELLO, I AM A PUSH OVER. I will say YES so just ask me. </li>
<li>At restaurants, don't bring me water with two cubes of ice. I don't want room temperature tap water, the least you could do is give me a lot of ice to cancel out the tap-ness of the water. </li>
<li>I love the movies but I hate inappropriateness at the movies. What do I mean by inappropriateness? Well, I am a talker during movies, I will comment or ask questions, but they are pertinent to the movie. The 14 year-olds who just want to gossip about who likes who, get the heck out of the theater. I also like to laugh during movies, sometimes even loudly. The jr. high gigglers, need to leave, that is not appropriate. Opening weekend of big movies, I will cheer or clap at good parts but it is not necessary to go over board. </li>
<li>It drives me crazy when people say they don't like things that they never tried. Do they not realize that being so closed minded will only lead to an unadventurous life? </li>
<li>When people complain about things in their life that they can change and they don't. Don't complain to me about your job, boyfriend, life, school, religion... if you aren't going to do what it takes to change it so you can be happy. </li>
<li>Fake people. Be who you are. Why be fake? Is there really any reason for you to talk, act, think different than how you really feel? If you think it is to make people like you more, they won't. </li>
<li>It drives me crazy when members of the LDS church say "the church" says to do this or not to do this. Really? There are so many things that the "church" doesn't have an official standing on and when people say the church does, I just want to smack them. Don't just hid behind some rumor you heard or half-a listened to at conference, do some research and see what "the church" really thinks about it before saying that. </li>
<li>My sister in-law is a Mexican who legally moved to the United States. I also grew up with parents who teach in the public school system and deal with many legal and non-legal immigrants from Mexico. I think it is a sign of ignorance when people who have never had personal experience with immigrants decide to take a stand against them and put them all in the category of lazy and destructive. </li>
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Don't hate me after reading this. Almost all of these you will never know I am thinking or feeling, but deep down, I am being driven crazy! </div>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-33507331115206104222012-05-04T20:43:00.000-07:002012-05-04T20:43:25.745-07:00Be Optimistic, Don't You Be a Grumpy!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<i>Dave wrote about the trip to DC. You can read about it <a href="http://davechalk.blogspot.com/2012/04/road-trip-to-dc.html" target="_blank">here</a>, <a href="http://davechalk.blogspot.com/2012/05/capital-style-eating.html" target="_blank">here</a> and <a href="http://davechalk.blogspot.com/2012/05/medium-rare.html" target="_blank">here</a>. </i></div>
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Sometimes, my job can be hard. I imagine, that any job can have it's hard moments. In fact, I know I have moaned, on the phone and in person, to Lindsay White Sherman about almost every job I have ever had. It is always nice to get work crap off your chest and wake up and go to work the next day all clear of the crappy stuff before. However, with this job (door to door sales), complaining is like shooting yourself in the foot. Complaining and negativism are contagious and become a chronic problem which end up losing you money and stripping any motivation away. </div>
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So, I am writing this post about Virginia and the many things I see and enjoy everyday. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOkW1NiIrEflRYV4opA18obnKUDEag19pDOBj4BZImTCwn30K7e0vob-gyr817a5wGPh9HimFrNhgQNwoAZZByIAEG6RrscMOPmwA9zYd9w3fYXlNVpTpO0CoHvrSiuZ_2_yTL-hWviO4/s640/blogger-image--1358627943.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="187" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOkW1NiIrEflRYV4opA18obnKUDEag19pDOBj4BZImTCwn30K7e0vob-gyr817a5wGPh9HimFrNhgQNwoAZZByIAEG6RrscMOPmwA9zYd9w3fYXlNVpTpO0CoHvrSiuZ_2_yTL-hWviO4/s320/blogger-image--1358627943.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Town homes are everywhere out here. </div>
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I don't think I have ever seen any like this in AZ. </div>
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It is fun to see so many people in one area with such </div>
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different lives and stories. These particular town homes</div>
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are a godsend because they don't each have 18 stairs to go up. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbZ04XpRTe-IeUsXt0DHQ4yF5vNiiVf_OtOXqYgE2Ufjlm6O5CKhdF3YlFf5LQ4BYluv760TZGSPv7WRMawSpkGc8RgyuLZLclGLPvoC7Am_ZdXuV3SPeQPU7NiXQqNu538uOuoQrn78/s1600/IMG_0383.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPbZ04XpRTe-IeUsXt0DHQ4yF5vNiiVf_OtOXqYgE2Ufjlm6O5CKhdF3YlFf5LQ4BYluv760TZGSPv7WRMawSpkGc8RgyuLZLclGLPvoC7Am_ZdXuV3SPeQPU7NiXQqNu538uOuoQrn78/s320/IMG_0383.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Homes out here are so cute and well taken care of. </div>
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I worked in this neighborhood last year and wanted</div>
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to live there. The houses were so cute and the people</div>
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were pretty nice. (I can take the onslaught of "no" </div>
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but at least be nice about it!)</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFibnJlOZe_NMse78v2z-5MzVr3fGYr9rI7Xa5MW6iEoIJ4TJVsSihUNSrJXkQfKCrXf7nLk-rjb0eDbnxADSEAotnFRI3YSclNM-SHMd44xYo6Os3LjFlvHbRw_u5_TgviFJc5-2YyHw/s1600/IMG_0518.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFibnJlOZe_NMse78v2z-5MzVr3fGYr9rI7Xa5MW6iEoIJ4TJVsSihUNSrJXkQfKCrXf7nLk-rjb0eDbnxADSEAotnFRI3YSclNM-SHMd44xYo6Os3LjFlvHbRw_u5_TgviFJc5-2YyHw/s320/IMG_0518.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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You can't see it very well, but there is a ridiculous mansion</div>
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off to the left behind the trees. It is totally gaudy and</div>
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in such a random neighborhood. The house to the right</div>
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and all around are tiny, old homes built a long time ago. </div>
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But, east Indian's know how to do it! Buy cheep land in</div>
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a random place and you can build a bigger house! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqy2E0AVpuHKUbOQ7fI05Vx3xdmR_ZMUX5BuNu1tDhz48aDWusXU9y8Q8nCCdS-CJBQRAP8zDYFapPKKeHPC6JIc2zveaLbfg0JIwTXchkDw6zjvO3a-lnbc152vTGze7gQCzraeBGTas/s640/blogger-image--650655963.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqy2E0AVpuHKUbOQ7fI05Vx3xdmR_ZMUX5BuNu1tDhz48aDWusXU9y8Q8nCCdS-CJBQRAP8zDYFapPKKeHPC6JIc2zveaLbfg0JIwTXchkDw6zjvO3a-lnbc152vTGze7gQCzraeBGTas/s320/blogger-image--650655963.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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Ok, so this I don't get. People pay and have these</div>
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wood fences put up around their homes. Then, </div>
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they never put a finnish on it or paint it, just leave </div>
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them to look like rotting wood. WHY? A </div>
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bucket of paint can't cost that much, or better </div>
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yet, have the company who installs it, pain it.</div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigubhL_jk7NN-dIe1sScsuXifzveBjD5TSNqmFUdYwjsOF9RVzfXMMPmg8RzQ61ELASzGOyAUk13s17MO560ntXVP7wKaXo514UsrIvsdyYqMWmx2DGBeS0B8u0pamfdyczNRIXlKeM9Y/s640/blogger-image-341188148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigubhL_jk7NN-dIe1sScsuXifzveBjD5TSNqmFUdYwjsOF9RVzfXMMPmg8RzQ61ELASzGOyAUk13s17MO560ntXVP7wKaXo514UsrIvsdyYqMWmx2DGBeS0B8u0pamfdyczNRIXlKeM9Y/s320/blogger-image-341188148.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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Everyone out here has little figurines in their </div>
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yard. Some are of dears, some have little pigs,</div>
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some have noms, cats, dogs, porkupines.... weird!</div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcd3ut1GA_LT4cxXc9r0W8HrYEi4tn7JO47kgLSgiinoUBvE1chhZgAa0tUpkPkHJhtSFlfeCcfYYfGXPEY3LNaEviNvWOLRZerTA_pVUX535KLVwEdoAyofJvvUGFfEKtyXgCJLEOcQ/s640/blogger-image--2068184804.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTcd3ut1GA_LT4cxXc9r0W8HrYEi4tn7JO47kgLSgiinoUBvE1chhZgAa0tUpkPkHJhtSFlfeCcfYYfGXPEY3LNaEviNvWOLRZerTA_pVUX535KLVwEdoAyofJvvUGFfEKtyXgCJLEOcQ/s320/blogger-image--2068184804.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I kept seeing these crazy huge buds that resembled</div>
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rose buds but were round. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisalPvCNAzaOlY8rjyX_L-8oxFkIR7SpNAEu5ks42li0eLRnNveYeJRgnhIlG2ktbJNi6NPgHw8o_iqHm9YJ0BisqXWrLD3BEpy782y2AWb-5dcKy761zMTF_8FlLbi6BfSsux61Yj-pg/s640/blogger-image--445409515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisalPvCNAzaOlY8rjyX_L-8oxFkIR7SpNAEu5ks42li0eLRnNveYeJRgnhIlG2ktbJNi6NPgHw8o_iqHm9YJ0BisqXWrLD3BEpy782y2AWb-5dcKy761zMTF_8FlLbi6BfSsux61Yj-pg/s320/blogger-image--445409515.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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It turns out they are </div>
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these super pretty roses. </div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0l3copNO4Exxby3UPrkT-Ayl9TC1_S1hQJpIGlNHOZZ4V1WxLnhGKFAEFqohvoO1jP7mitbvxvCD_jqpyVSGmMM5wu7xJdi4Wmj_tD5kjNgXGZRO__7lvaPL0Bc84N9M8sz6oN8tOw0A/s640/blogger-image--1653894514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0l3copNO4Exxby3UPrkT-Ayl9TC1_S1hQJpIGlNHOZZ4V1WxLnhGKFAEFqohvoO1jP7mitbvxvCD_jqpyVSGmMM5wu7xJdi4Wmj_tD5kjNgXGZRO__7lvaPL0Bc84N9M8sz6oN8tOw0A/s320/blogger-image--1653894514.jpg" width="239" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnuebbWkY8ihA0ul9WXfx9UaMb4UCcTL_XezXfoakPko1FEG8Ps6ZM9baxhPwIrsiDSxVPPQ3FkYLi2bZynSc17mGag7vDRaOlCQHUGFugE7PY5pNDfGQXsbTCwnSBar6Iyd0v2eI7M4/s640/blogger-image--821048520.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCnuebbWkY8ihA0ul9WXfx9UaMb4UCcTL_XezXfoakPko1FEG8Ps6ZM9baxhPwIrsiDSxVPPQ3FkYLi2bZynSc17mGag7vDRaOlCQHUGFugE7PY5pNDfGQXsbTCwnSBar6Iyd0v2eI7M4/s320/blogger-image--821048520.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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I passed this old, closed down building and couldn't help but take some photos. </div>
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigK2P8x6lxzCDwxQBS0dCpDak29biwdBNg0Jxpb7j38lQkPAuiZITuVl_mJZwx8OD91fU22UIvQphXgqMVuRcihDl7MP47Qz6vYt7tMEWagW96wHKxuBXIDhv54dXU0j1fc5hkP3oXCCY/s640/blogger-image-1899908614.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigK2P8x6lxzCDwxQBS0dCpDak29biwdBNg0Jxpb7j38lQkPAuiZITuVl_mJZwx8OD91fU22UIvQphXgqMVuRcihDl7MP47Qz6vYt7tMEWagW96wHKxuBXIDhv54dXU0j1fc5hkP3oXCCY/s320/blogger-image-1899908614.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Pink sunset. Such a nice welcome to the evening. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukbD8QPAC-3021gjuH9bMVvunkpRTwCyRQlmOVei4nCRWKZKjjM9buPG4_Gg7l6IioqKpRt2Lj6w8vMpAU7CMlg3bSiCQlLEDm_We9IlDDJWTfwJvtKWqtFiRYEDMqt86YZsUq9ciXpk/s640/blogger-image--1972783691.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiukbD8QPAC-3021gjuH9bMVvunkpRTwCyRQlmOVei4nCRWKZKjjM9buPG4_Gg7l6IioqKpRt2Lj6w8vMpAU7CMlg3bSiCQlLEDm_We9IlDDJWTfwJvtKWqtFiRYEDMqt86YZsUq9ciXpk/s320/blogger-image--1972783691.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I know this is blurry, I took it while driving, </div>
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but I thought it still turned out cool. </div>
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This is the sky right after it rained. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpcm4x_M9ngQ6_UkuS8tJ_zmBDfHNh77IseOGcZKVn6q6bEK_7NZcgeXu82SuW_NPSPjnBmBT_11om2IdaKuXTMRxDm2F15_FBX5daIrNdJe7WJcPUV-YENmWw2bSivuVC_r-jKUoj7zE/s640/blogger-image--1162577854.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpcm4x_M9ngQ6_UkuS8tJ_zmBDfHNh77IseOGcZKVn6q6bEK_7NZcgeXu82SuW_NPSPjnBmBT_11om2IdaKuXTMRxDm2F15_FBX5daIrNdJe7WJcPUV-YENmWw2bSivuVC_r-jKUoj7zE/s320/blogger-image--1162577854.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
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When I imagine heaven, I imagine it looking like this. </div>
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Green everywhere that invites happiness. </div>
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It would have to be 15 degrees cooler with </div>
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no humidity to really be heaven though. </div>
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There you go, There is a little taste of my life here in the big VA! </div>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-65998575503030625272012-04-29T18:37:00.002-07:002012-04-29T18:37:18.506-07:00Do-u-think-he-saurus RexOk, I know I should be answering number 5 but I have been giving this one a lot of thought, so I am skipping to 15.<br />
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<a href="http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/02/1530-things-rawr.html" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">15. If you were an animal, what would you be and why?</a><br />
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As I drove across the country, there were plenty of animals to see and observe. As we past some cows, grazing on a field in the sun, I said "what a life, wouldn't it be great to be a cow?!"<br />
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Dave, my driving partner, did not think that life as a cow would be that great... He also thought I was crazy for saying that. Even crazier when I explained that I have given a lot of thought to what animal I would be if I could be an animal (even before planning for this post!).<br />
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I served a mission for my church in Brazil for 18 months. Part of being on a mission in Sao Paulo, meant that you walked everywhere you needed to go. One day when I was walking down a street, I saw this dog through a fence and it was just sprawled on its back with its legs outspread, enjoying life.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8rh8alaAAXWDyXvAMrwG9chJjFWBhhG3R1MZMwZMu3bO_p4DPnD4H5Ghva4JnlzPGemAumOma3yzgUoK0hn1NIGFd308YssWRgCt_QTx25n4SLH2Z74tAz6i29E2wk1FQWsdMztQ05g/s1600/dog_on_back.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="176" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz8rh8alaAAXWDyXvAMrwG9chJjFWBhhG3R1MZMwZMu3bO_p4DPnD4H5Ghva4JnlzPGemAumOma3yzgUoK0hn1NIGFd308YssWRgCt_QTx25n4SLH2Z74tAz6i29E2wk1FQWsdMztQ05g/s320/dog_on_back.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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When I saw that dog, I stopped dead in my tracks and just watched him. That dog was happy. Life was great. He knew that when he was hungry or thirsty, he could go to his bowl and get some food or water. He knew that if he wanted to play, he could make some noise or claw on the door and someone would play with him. He knew that chasing his tail would give him the exercise he needed for the day. And most of all, he knew that his family loved him unconditionally.<br />
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There was also a time when I had my window open a little as I was lying in bed trying to fall asleep and when the sun started coming up, I heard the birds start chirping. You could possibly blame my thoughts on the lack of sleep, but I thought "wow, these birds are so happy to be up right now, I would love to be a bird!"<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUaVjhS9sc6QHNhkRS9DR-TAC4e8hZtVKGseCTegngXDLXWL05STT0fQJWp5nMxsWhjJPPEIq0R1817cGLK6xxDYYB1C56pku_nPC2Jw29I0lix26SqHRnn2FPGIfcR0_FI23_rGtVg88/s1600/Iceracinderella0203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUaVjhS9sc6QHNhkRS9DR-TAC4e8hZtVKGseCTegngXDLXWL05STT0fQJWp5nMxsWhjJPPEIq0R1817cGLK6xxDYYB1C56pku_nPC2Jw29I0lix26SqHRnn2FPGIfcR0_FI23_rGtVg88/s320/Iceracinderella0203.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My bird of choice would be one from Cinderella.</td></tr>
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I don't know why, but when I saw that dog I thought "I would love to have the life of a dog" or heard those birds that I thought I would love to be one. Maybe, it is because animals don't have to make sense out of life. Having a religious background, I have a belief as to why we are here on Earth, where we were before, and where we are going to go. But all of those beliefs are so general and vague. I wish sometimes that I could know why I, personally, am here on the Earth. What am I supposed to do? Who am I supposed to become? How do I make a difference? These are things that wrack my brain on a daily and constant basis. But if I were that dog, I would know that all I needed to do was eat, sleep, be happy, then die.<br />
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So, if I were an animal, I would love it. In fact, I almost wish I could be an animal. Which one would I be? Well here is a list of some I don't want to be first:<br />
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<ul>
<li>Deer- they are just stupid and seem too uptight to be happy and carefree. </li>
<li>Fish- Really, any water living creature, I don't want to be. I want to take in the world and the fresh air, not be underwater all day everyday. </li>
<li>Insects- I don't want to be gross or hated...</li>
<li>Horse- I haven't had a lot of experience with horses, but I also have never seen one that looked happy. So, no. </li>
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Top contenders for my vote:</div>
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<li>Dog- So happy, even domesticated and living in confinement, they are always happy. </li>
<li>Bird- So free to do what ever they want. </li>
<li>Cow- Cows just seem so carefree and relaxed. Imagine just being out in a gorgeous field eating and not having to think about anything... oh what a life. </li>
<li>Butterfly- Spend most of your life with the purpose to just eat, yes please! </li>
<li>Brachiosaurus- First of all, who wouldn't want to be a dinosaur? Second, as a brachiosaurus, you would just lazily walk around all day, eat from the top of trees, take in the world, soak up the sun, and enjoy every minute of it. </li>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjokxcggwy25iD42S_2l9ibzlj6baIIar6x9xxAd7IZJzjs9BE2y9GmtnxgsJuoP_4m6weumhl1ZphIlUyHWyeeQWyR96F3XqwG0K6XBkFqtJ0H4BCiWM4EkTl3tysuERAln_U1V7CtveE/s1600/Long_Neck_Dinosaur_Wallpapers.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjokxcggwy25iD42S_2l9ibzlj6baIIar6x9xxAd7IZJzjs9BE2y9GmtnxgsJuoP_4m6weumhl1ZphIlUyHWyeeQWyR96F3XqwG0K6XBkFqtJ0H4BCiWM4EkTl3tysuERAln_U1V7CtveE/s320/Long_Neck_Dinosaur_Wallpapers.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What do you call a blind dinosaur?<br />Do-you-think-he-saurus<br />What do you call a blind dinosaurs dog?<br />Do-you-think-he-saurus Rex</td></tr>
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There you have it, more weird things about Chelsie. And believe me, this post could have been way longer, I really have given a lot of thought to being an animal.Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-48333023932933119672012-04-26T15:17:00.001-07:002012-04-26T16:12:45.265-07:00Once upon a time...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
There was a girl who asked a boy to go on a road trip with her from Utah to Virginia. </div>
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<span style="color: #0c343d;">YAY! Road trip...</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDTPn_hB4sMOtVHWqpWq7rQld7VoZ6blbs5SpjtnxOAD2vbjnEV_H2wHdCOE1ARIRhdC3CGDQkeD62_D12BTRtFOF61tzyV_3VzB-C5U54WC1ufZ1o3HlOnOfJ3JLAshfISOujpqU2J-4/s640/blogger-image--7664109.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDTPn_hB4sMOtVHWqpWq7rQld7VoZ6blbs5SpjtnxOAD2vbjnEV_H2wHdCOE1ARIRhdC3CGDQkeD62_D12BTRtFOF61tzyV_3VzB-C5U54WC1ufZ1o3HlOnOfJ3JLAshfISOujpqU2J-4/s320/blogger-image--7664109.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Hey I never claimed to be an artist, but this is a prius.)</td></tr>
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Little did he know that he would end up being a chauffeur on this trip...</div>
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<span style="color: #660000;">Dave, do you mind driving a few hours, I need a nap? </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfETrnuWQ6B6UGgW_IFnexA16ohdeLFaSBv18rLb35N0_uToPYN10WS8Kxhx5bsICpMdsHQ-eKbZR56GSkRcM7sS7VgUOZD6jlu_pvAx7JwNXNHKa_qY5eaDBmXBoXrysja9KxXRMSWg/s640/blogger-image-745594668.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimfETrnuWQ6B6UGgW_IFnexA16ohdeLFaSBv18rLb35N0_uToPYN10WS8Kxhx5bsICpMdsHQ-eKbZR56GSkRcM7sS7VgUOZD6jlu_pvAx7JwNXNHKa_qY5eaDBmXBoXrysja9KxXRMSWg/s320/blogger-image-745594668.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;">Dave, it's snowing. I've never driven in snow. You mind driving? </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2DHbkJhGk1NMNZi3m2uC64iSzSermJBOwMc3YlcBfE_zwZlV4fEcuF-P7iEaCSv86shhKzgjtRscemhNlpHFU_r_Lm1ezCkgCtmIoZkOT3QPT93VhDCB_YjCggO2e4Zj2lgm0KJ3Hci0/s640/blogger-image-916506724.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2DHbkJhGk1NMNZi3m2uC64iSzSermJBOwMc3YlcBfE_zwZlV4fEcuF-P7iEaCSv86shhKzgjtRscemhNlpHFU_r_Lm1ezCkgCtmIoZkOT3QPT93VhDCB_YjCggO2e4Zj2lgm0KJ3Hci0/s320/blogger-image-916506724.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">(Needless to say, Dave drove 28 of the 36 hours...)</td></tr>
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At least the boy got some good food out of it all. However, he did have to do all the research to find the places to eat at. </div>
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After a discussion/argument about the grossness of smoked salmon, they stopped for lunch in Omaha.</div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">Do you like garlic on meat?</span> <span style="color: #660000;">Yes, but garlic is a plant.</span> <span style="color: #073763;">Chelsie, so is a tree.</span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqiMXuD8vwSdNXWuSOd8im5LkgxZjZtzqF4aBVATZNCmV2dfRSXJjAGFmTgDDF6QCgrLLu6g2PVBlzn0hdUdvkg2ej30AaKburgT0pJDo6fmghAvxtriAfzfn-kjpipohDmoTasrMPBI/s640/blogger-image-1998089642.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqiMXuD8vwSdNXWuSOd8im5LkgxZjZtzqF4aBVATZNCmV2dfRSXJjAGFmTgDDF6QCgrLLu6g2PVBlzn0hdUdvkg2ej30AaKburgT0pJDo6fmghAvxtriAfzfn-kjpipohDmoTasrMPBI/s320/blogger-image-1998089642.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">PepperJax in Omaha is the best philly cheese steak sandwich I've ever eaten. </td></tr>
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After lunch, the two filled up with gas, of course at QT. And, there were some strange people around. </div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">What is that woman wearing?!?</span></div>
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After a few more hours of driving, a few podcasts and of course, some broadway musicals, they made it to Chicago for dinner. Yes it made complete sense for them to go hours out of their way to get some deep dish pizza! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvYnq6fnJYa53_oW0oIHk9oH1kxNkTzZrBmaEeKKh2PoX2hAVpVR6lvGajIydUQsb2rabSAbSx4ag3pY_TtGP3Q9EhBBkQMCLQSmoiCCAI5lj_B-qWk3dAIxPr9V6qdGb9L6N8kjvl30/s640/blogger-image--1449549007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYvYnq6fnJYa53_oW0oIHk9oH1kxNkTzZrBmaEeKKh2PoX2hAVpVR6lvGajIydUQsb2rabSAbSx4ag3pY_TtGP3Q9EhBBkQMCLQSmoiCCAI5lj_B-qWk3dAIxPr9V6qdGb9L6N8kjvl30/s320/blogger-image--1449549007.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;">What? We can write on the walls! </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglNGRj4V0yOppFx9qaQTPT1n2ox4G8OhDZ_1ZxoPB68oiSl6wc56tmm4KjNMhOydISSmFc585yhLzoGdl69ogFxqyY5w6PjLIeuNclT498KvcIn_VmVLzbOnEtH4A8IQzvUJ7i38GB7GI/s640/blogger-image-775577140.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglNGRj4V0yOppFx9qaQTPT1n2ox4G8OhDZ_1ZxoPB68oiSl6wc56tmm4KjNMhOydISSmFc585yhLzoGdl69ogFxqyY5w6PjLIeuNclT498KvcIn_VmVLzbOnEtH4A8IQzvUJ7i38GB7GI/s200/blogger-image-775577140.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnCwS_lt5l1Z1Z_HDj-_HtZkMcisbmvE0JzQIqC-fMNCSFscHGEAh6jTgJAbXcvYATzOeRDTSU8jYxyEYTzAKJFCdY9dBEVTqthj_pDVyB7eA9koEOTIUbezWv65tSpYxo0r5XM2eBug/s640/blogger-image-671953609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnCwS_lt5l1Z1Z_HDj-_HtZkMcisbmvE0JzQIqC-fMNCSFscHGEAh6jTgJAbXcvYATzOeRDTSU8jYxyEYTzAKJFCdY9dBEVTqthj_pDVyB7eA9koEOTIUbezWv65tSpYxo0r5XM2eBug/s200/blogger-image-671953609.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #660000;">I'm so full and my body is so sick of sitting in a car. We should do lunges back to the car!</span> </div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">Do you hear yourself when you talk? </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1BmfvdOkYPKYMPOnlbLRYcF-uI48i5wGRzf3G76lgvLpeGNOTAbt7m4uXwEHKZzEOz2GryVvmmIWtugfSFoUk_NzxKqgtZxW1ZoxVmFs8CJTeA2zBgwDMJw8-5bfu4O2eSfhbVEc7s7o/s640/blogger-image-336725824.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1BmfvdOkYPKYMPOnlbLRYcF-uI48i5wGRzf3G76lgvLpeGNOTAbt7m4uXwEHKZzEOz2GryVvmmIWtugfSFoUk_NzxKqgtZxW1ZoxVmFs8CJTeA2zBgwDMJw8-5bfu4O2eSfhbVEc7s7o/s320/blogger-image-336725824.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Finally, they made it to Virginia just in time to eat again. </div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">What's the plan?</span> <span style="color: #660000;">We could go to DC.</span> <span style="color: #073763;">Ok, where should we go?</span> <span style="color: #660000;">You didn't figure that out too? </span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1xoG8PtOtrEa9nKnYXvQmxVHW0VXd5Xtm5hJQ3KXWWiWyucD48JnItAZFezyu8Z8nbk7a5rBxUEzBYurhbgKYTHL10N_DFV6UTjF5WiSbL762N1gZOINcM8p1Oe3oEUjSezF3tHniqc/s640/blogger-image--1719200716.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM1xoG8PtOtrEa9nKnYXvQmxVHW0VXd5Xtm5hJQ3KXWWiWyucD48JnItAZFezyu8Z8nbk7a5rBxUEzBYurhbgKYTHL10N_DFV6UTjF5WiSbL762N1gZOINcM8p1Oe3oEUjSezF3tHniqc/s320/blogger-image--1719200716.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oohh's & Aahs Soul Food. I got some good chicken, collard greens, and mac & cheese. </td></tr>
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When the girl did drive, she got them lost. Even though the GPS said it'd take 33 minutes to get to lunch, it took like 2 hours.</div>
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<span style="color: #660000;">If we leave an hour early to meet up with your friend in DC, we should be good...</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTOEVRpj0FN0UctKky_T8XPWT8fNtdgSiNVSnQFVEz19km3Woo7mUOOJ8FZJjUBd7ko6wuzQ-9dkhvntQAudNIQdHWX6DD0gRFttuGChkq-1nSHbpQMJL4uGQjg1t9iIVQV_Nfy9JhrGM/s640/blogger-image--1521588233.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTOEVRpj0FN0UctKky_T8XPWT8fNtdgSiNVSnQFVEz19km3Woo7mUOOJ8FZJjUBd7ko6wuzQ-9dkhvntQAudNIQdHWX6DD0gRFttuGChkq-1nSHbpQMJL4uGQjg1t9iIVQV_Nfy9JhrGM/s320/blogger-image--1521588233.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Founding Farmers, DC. Great meal. Simple yet so good. I have to go back though <br />because I am still jealous I didn't get the chicken and waffles. </td></tr>
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It wouldn't be a road trip if there weren't a few fights. </div>
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<span style="color: #073763;">What are you doing?</span> <span style="color: #660000;">STOP YELLING AT ME! I'm just trying to find out where to go.</span> </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-xs5qALXC35Ta2b_NNWxDm-6IqTn-vbdJTu6m9bfUhGYxwp1xMutDFnHplw5IzxmNtrQ3zh8pDSHfoAkyRVBOce0vYZZ4-QOOCt0p0zqxmnDSrLU8iUZic_LH_7jyn7qKDguMWzF9OfQ/s640/blogger-image--1833547273.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-xs5qALXC35Ta2b_NNWxDm-6IqTn-vbdJTu6m9bfUhGYxwp1xMutDFnHplw5IzxmNtrQ3zh8pDSHfoAkyRVBOce0vYZZ4-QOOCt0p0zqxmnDSrLU8iUZic_LH_7jyn7qKDguMWzF9OfQ/s320/blogger-image--1833547273.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">National museum of the American Indian. <br />Our bodies hated that we were trying to walk around a museum. </td></tr>
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The girl sometimes has weird ideas that she says out loud, like about liking old buildings. </div>
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<span style="color: #660000;">I've never said that out loud before.</span> <span style="color: #073763;">I don't believe you, you say everything out loud.</span> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mtRipZ0kGotZToBM_5DxUT_wU5tNOYZDOLTf2G6H9lfA6M8F6CUWbvRTf4OummngaT7M7UECmDlolS8yy7bnNX8KbXGmbonrzjWo18Yc15gBwBQWBLIVMcNDSTNW4arkQZ6l1j2pTLw/s640/blogger-image-1420210255.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7mtRipZ0kGotZToBM_5DxUT_wU5tNOYZDOLTf2G6H9lfA6M8F6CUWbvRTf4OummngaT7M7UECmDlolS8yy7bnNX8KbXGmbonrzjWo18Yc15gBwBQWBLIVMcNDSTNW4arkQZ6l1j2pTLw/s320/blogger-image-1420210255.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtnCwS_lt5l1Z1Z_HDj-_HtZkMcisbmvE0JzQIqC-fMNCSFscHGEAh6jTgJAbXcvYATzOeRDTSU8jYxyEYTzAKJFCdY9dBEVTqthj_pDVyB7eA9koEOTIUbezWv65tSpYxo0r5XM2eBug/s640/blogger-image-671953609.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
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Day 4 was finally ending as the boy and girl had an amazing dinner with</div>
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the boy's friends Nick and Heidi. </div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDvLRZbPPw2p7iJF99byGRPd72pHUxNKKv_eT_5SHAUMJQ_PR_kbyH9zGm0SC3evP_5HkxvyLVOzgovuDqPEx6AQnbUsfBQxNcYYSk_C-LJ3x7_7btL783CgkBv8BSlsF_EVOYsC-HTvg/s640/blogger-image--754283441.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDvLRZbPPw2p7iJF99byGRPd72pHUxNKKv_eT_5SHAUMJQ_PR_kbyH9zGm0SC3evP_5HkxvyLVOzgovuDqPEx6AQnbUsfBQxNcYYSk_C-LJ3x7_7btL783CgkBv8BSlsF_EVOYsC-HTvg/s320/blogger-image--754283441.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I am not the biggest meat eater, but I ate all my steak. <br />That's saying a lot because they give you seconds. </td></tr>
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THE END </div>
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<span style="color: #660000;">Thanks Dave! </span></div>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-88210203594610288292012-04-19T15:21:00.000-07:002012-04-19T15:21:23.320-07:00If I knew then, What I know now...I'd still screw things up!On to question number 4...<br />
<br />
<a href="http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/430-things-sixteen.html" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">4. List 10 things you would tell your 16 year-old self, if you could.</a><br />
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This is a hard one, but I'll try<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Take a money management class and learn to keep a budget. </li>
<li>Tell your Winter Formal date to not run a red light.</li>
<li>Look into more scholarships.</li>
<li>Don't speed down Alma School Road, you'll get a ticket someday on the way home from school.</li>
<li>MLA doesn't matter for your future, stick with APA.</li>
<li>Buy stock in Apple.</li>
<li>Don't spend so much time worrying and go have fun. </li>
<li>Shilo and that chicken are not just having fun, help them! </li>
<li>Start flossing daily so you don't have to get a crown in 10 years.</li>
<li>Family makes the best friends, focus more on them! </li>
</ol>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-40537066094414178332012-04-16T16:40:00.002-07:002012-04-16T16:40:48.275-07:00Jean & Lyndel best parents in the world!Between writing three 20 page papers, going to Arizona, and trying desperately to find new roommates, I have not kept up on my goal to write every week...so, I am writing another post just three days later!<br />
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I am going to answer number three from the list of questions to get to know me.<br />
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<span style="color: #444444;">3. <span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif;"><span style="background-color: white; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px;">Describe your relationship with your parents</span></span> </span><br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span><br />
Just a quick background on my parents:<br />
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Mom<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_alUdirMcofF22s8EyhmTcrQZQQqINLpoNjji8xjUo3q9VFLN7QWi66mPtT1V_iP1zFj9jA6yx2MOmkXOO6N9hhgiQHs32wZxpG_nuALaKhALvga5WyememTJ0q7OcxdqGpE1tKjTlFU/s1600/Mom+&+Dad.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_alUdirMcofF22s8EyhmTcrQZQQqINLpoNjji8xjUo3q9VFLN7QWi66mPtT1V_iP1zFj9jA6yx2MOmkXOO6N9hhgiQHs32wZxpG_nuALaKhALvga5WyememTJ0q7OcxdqGpE1tKjTlFU/s320/Mom+&+Dad.jpg" width="240" /></a><br />
<ul>
<li>My mother's name is Jean Renee Grover</li>
<li>She, along with her twin brother, were adopted as babies</li>
<li>She grew up in Phoenix, Arizona and later moved to Mesa, Arizona</li>
<li>She worked at her dad/brothers business (Grovers) during college</li>
<li>She got her teaching degree at Arizona State University</li>
<li>She got her Masters through Northern Arizona University</li>
<li>She has taught High School English for the past 25 years</li>
<li>She takes on a million and a half things and works really hard</li>
<li>She has raised 4 kids and sort of adopted one more</li>
</ul>
<div>
Dad</div>
<div>
<ul>
<li>My father's name is Lyndel Lawrence Akers</li>
<li>He moved a lot growing up. He was born in Oklahoma and lived in Washington</li>
<li>He served a mission in Cleveland Ohio in '77</li>
<li>He worked at Grovers after the mission where he met my mom</li>
<li>He then started his own lawn business: Green Akers</li>
<li>He went back to school and got a teaching degree with Ottawa University</li>
<li>Then promptly started and finished his masters with NAU </li>
<li>He is a 2nd grade teacher and really makes a difference in their lives </li>
<li>He is also a bishop in our ward</li>
</ul>
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In between all their schooling and working they had us kids and have been the best parents I could ask for. </div>
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My dad and I have a good relationship. For a little prospective, when I was home for Christmas my sister accused me of being my dads favorite and he didn't deny it... My dad and I are a lot alike: the way we think, act, and even our jokes are similar. I think the best way to describe our relationship is through some examples.</div>
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<br />
I remember when my dad was going back to school and he would be gone at nights, I would take his text books and highlight them. I just wanted to be like him and be smart and go to college. Then, once he was done and started teaching, I loved to go to school with him and help him in his room. I didn't realize it till now, but I am a daddy's girl. I always liked to be around him. His presence has always brought a sense of peace to my life.<br />
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One of my favorite memories with my dad is when I went to get my patriarchal blessing. (A blessing delivered through a priesthood holder that contains personal guidance from the Lord.) My parents and I went to the guys house, talked with him for a little bit and then he gave the blessing. When we left the mans house, my dad put his arm around me and said "I'm so proud of you." This meant the world to me. Our family isn't very affectionate and this is one of the few moments I can look back on and know he loves me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQLEaE3xEyq3f6t9t9Vkg5dDUffFcaPwZdxQ3MW8dSG9RELNMIC43ykKoPgvL5LelZCAOXTcJG9Ua3vtqPg9FPPQkXPfjnaCvcA_k9PgX-k5lIO-0jYERspEVPWu7VcIpzYpJvtbUcmVg/s1600/wrigley+field.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQLEaE3xEyq3f6t9t9Vkg5dDUffFcaPwZdxQ3MW8dSG9RELNMIC43ykKoPgvL5LelZCAOXTcJG9Ua3vtqPg9FPPQkXPfjnaCvcA_k9PgX-k5lIO-0jYERspEVPWu7VcIpzYpJvtbUcmVg/s320/wrigley+field.jpg" width="320" /></a>My favorite thing about my dad, is that he has supported me in everything I have ever done. I never have to question if he will stand behind me and guide me when needed. When I wanted to take a year off college and work for the airlines to travel all over, he loved the idea so much that he even went on trips with me: we went to Chicago and saw a baseball game at Wrigley Field and to Hobbiton in New Zealand, just for the heck of it. When I decided to serve a mission, he was super excited. When I wanted to drive to Virginia to sell pest control with a company I knew nothing about, he hopped in the car a took the 36 hour car drive with me.<br />
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My mom...I don't even know where to start with her. She is amazing and someday I hope to be as good as she is. I don't have a lot of early memories with her because she did work a lot and her job was an hour and half away. I do remember her reading me Winnie the Pooh while dabbing calamine lotion on my chicken pocks. However, once she started working closer to home our relationship began to blossom.<br />
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There were countless evening that I would sit and watch my mom cook dinner and we would talk. Looking back, I guess I could have helped my mom cook instead of just sitting there, but heck we can't all be perfect. Good for me bad for my mom, this ritual continued for many years. We talk about everything. It was hard to be away from her while I lived in Brazil and I looked up to getting an email from her every Wednesday.<br />
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I am now living in Utah on a different time than Arizona and we still talk just about every day. In fact, I just got a voicemail from her saying she misses me and to give her a call. And, she called me Chels in this message, which she doesn't do very often.<br />
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If there was a way for me to lighten her load and make life a little easier for her, I would. My mom has worked so hard her whole life and deserves a break!<br />
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That is it in a nut shell... I love my mom and dad so much and couldn't imagine life without them. And, I am sure that the only way they would love me more is if I gave them grandchildren. Don't hold your breath...<br />
<span style="color: #444444;"><br /></span>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-80145842195506492052012-04-14T18:41:00.001-07:002012-04-14T18:41:49.002-07:00Dear Secret Crush...Spoiler Alert*** I am going to mention the hunger games so if you don't want to hear it, move on...<br />
<br />
So for those who know me or have read previous posts, I am not the biggest believer in the "L" word. What's the L word you ask? Well it is only the nastiest of all 4 letter words...LOVE.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1GpipXirr0CDMA8WAIJp2JSXCeLV9NFpVRV9n_YjEVsFmWFDwvHaADkn9ZSn9-fsgLrReChdOlZIXqp_PdUMP0g_d-UhooBxz36Z9APSATJQ8M0E87GWTLeXKZ7z-MqzLM7qNEgV5Pjo/s1600/heart-pic-for-blog.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="157" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1GpipXirr0CDMA8WAIJp2JSXCeLV9NFpVRV9n_YjEVsFmWFDwvHaADkn9ZSn9-fsgLrReChdOlZIXqp_PdUMP0g_d-UhooBxz36Z9APSATJQ8M0E87GWTLeXKZ7z-MqzLM7qNEgV5Pjo/s200/heart-pic-for-blog.png" width="200" /></a></div>
I don't believe in love at first sight or that everyone has "one true love." Those are the topics for fictional books or movies with the purpose of entertaining an audience and making money.<br />
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As a member of the LDS church I have grown up seeing people go from meeting a person to married to them in 6 months... then another 9 months later (while both are still in school and don't have a career) they have a child. You would think that having grown up with this as my only exposure to what love and marriage is, that I would accept it... Well, think again.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKHXG8lT4vfQPssNtlpdVZeOk75MkBIYkiyqEtTDhqtHsBELY_ub6ObaPJeEx7z97n20y3B1LSHFPNnFMRKrEpy5Kvcc__KZcbiaETaeJVAipDLmJG90zizeb3HLcVC32fL9asEMpJI7E/s1600/mesa-mormon-temple63.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKHXG8lT4vfQPssNtlpdVZeOk75MkBIYkiyqEtTDhqtHsBELY_ub6ObaPJeEx7z97n20y3B1LSHFPNnFMRKrEpy5Kvcc__KZcbiaETaeJVAipDLmJG90zizeb3HLcVC32fL9asEMpJI7E/s320/mesa-mormon-temple63.jpg" width="320" /></a>For me love is something that takes a long time to cultivate. Especially the fact that I believe a marriage can carry on to the next life. So, how in the world can a person know they love someone after only a few months? I was an adult before I really told my family members that I loved them and you think I can tell a stranger I met 3 months ago that I love them? Get real.<br />
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I have had endless arguments with a friend of mine about having a true love. I don't believe, for one second, that we each have a person that is perfect for us. Or for that matter, that we have a given number of them, like a dozen, and we have to spend our life making sure we cross paths with at least one of them to find true happiness. I think that if I can find a person that I get along with and work cohesively with, why can't we be happy together? (After getting to know each other for a few years...)<br />
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That was just a little background on how I see love.<br />
<br />
The purpose of this post is to point out that hollywood has it all wrong.<br />
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There are countless movies which include a leading character (generally female) who has given up on love, doesn't believe in it, or just simply doesn't care about it. Following are a few examples:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Eat, Pray Love </li>
<ul>
<li>Liz Gilbert goes celibate after a bad divorce </li>
</ul>
<li>The Proposal</li>
<ul>
<li>Margaret Tate is too busy with her career to have time for love</li>
</ul>
<li>The Christmas Carol</li>
<ul>
<li>Scrooge's best friend and business partner dies leaving him depressed and lonely</li>
</ul>
<li>The Grinch</li>
<ul>
<li>He was hated and mistreated as a child which made his heart shrink</li>
</ul>
<li>The Hunger Games</li>
<ul>
<li>Katniss lives through her fathers death, mothers depression and witnesses the death of neighborhood children every year. This leaves her bitter toward the idea of love and children. </li>
</ul>
</ul>
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Yes, such sad stories that have lead so many characters to shun love. Well don't worry, all of them end up with love in the end. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4DX24wEFPPPkMRkU1EBkki_w_Kz5aX5dafV3u9TuYdlNaxgyh66TrVQPL_oUeeghc3BL8JHcBKyqs4J1d14sfKw1bXqsVexyWelv7UmuPPYoiRSujpkgQJpitj7h0NuKqd1-W5Kq2us/s1600/Katniss-Peeta-and-Gale-the-hunger-games-movie-27583422-831-1280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD4DX24wEFPPPkMRkU1EBkki_w_Kz5aX5dafV3u9TuYdlNaxgyh66TrVQPL_oUeeghc3BL8JHcBKyqs4J1d14sfKw1bXqsVexyWelv7UmuPPYoiRSujpkgQJpitj7h0NuKqd1-W5Kq2us/s320/Katniss-Peeta-and-Gale-the-hunger-games-movie-27583422-831-1280.jpg" width="207" /></a>As I watched The Hunger Games today I thought about how much I love Katniss' character. I see so many similarities between our personalities that I just know we would be friends. While reading the books, others complained about her attitude, reactions and blatant apathy. However, I understood her completely. Don't get me wrong, if there were mutant creatures with the eyeballs of humans running after me, I would be the first to be eaten not the first to get to safety. And, if I had to shoot a bow and arrow in order to save my life, I would probably end up shooting myself in the foot or something. I also, do not think that I am as beautiful or have as good a voice as her, but I get her. That is all I am saying. I get her. </div>
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One thing that we have in common is that we both have reservations about love and children. (She having more reason than I.) This attitude of hers results in two guys in love with her. For years on end the son of the town baker has had a crush on her and pronounces his love for her on live TV. Another has to keep feelings held in. </div>
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Seeing as we are so similar, where is the guy that has had a crush on me since our childhood? </div>
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You see, to these fictional characters, this attitude is seen as a desirable, sexy or even intriguing. Instead, in the real world or rather, my world, these traits are intimidating. At least in my experience. But, if you are out there, guy with the secret crush on me, its ok, you can tell me. </div>
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<br />Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-50851168993487372502012-03-23T20:38:00.000-07:002012-03-23T20:38:41.764-07:00Are You Afraid of the Dark???Do you remember watching Are You Afraid of the Dark when you were a kid? Us Akers, we were fans we even had the computer game that we spent an entire summer trying to beat. What does this have to do with anything? Well, todays self-disclosure question is about fear.<br />
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<a href="http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/230-things-fears.html" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">Describe 3 legitimate fears you have and explain how they became fears.</a><br />
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There are not many things I am afraid of. I am not afraid of the dark or heights, I am not even afraid of spiders or scorpions. I can go through hours of turbulence on a flight to Australia and not ever fear that the airplane might fall out of the sky. So, to come up with three fears I have had to dig deep.<br />
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Fear #1 - Someone I love unexpectedly dying<br />
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I am not afraid of death.<br />
I am, however, deathly afraid of the time when someone I love dies. I am afraid of this for very selfish reasons. I am afraid of this because if one of my parents, siblings, a future husband or child were to die, I cannot fathom how I would deal with it. I can easily see myself falling apart. This is a trial that I cannot prepare myself for.<br />
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I cannot imagine the pain I would feel and I don't know how I would chose to get through that pain. I have read enough books and seen enough movies with distraught characters to know there are many ways to deal with this type of death:<br />
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<ul>
<li>I could get so depressed that I don't get out of bed. No one would be able to rely on me, I wouldn't be able to eat or drink and I would probably stink. People would wonder if I had died and I would assure them that I had in every way short of physically. </li>
<li>I could blame God. I would fill myself with so much hatred for Him and the world that I would throw away every standard I have ever had. I would become an alcoholic and I'd probably get some sort of STD because I would start sleeping around. </li>
<li>Another option would be to lay on the bathroom floor for days and then decide to bake (like Izzy after Denny died). I'd just bake hundreds and hundreds of muffins.The life insurance check would be left on the fridge and my friends would start to hate the smell of freshly baked goods. </li>
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This may seem like a silly fear but I really don't want to ever be so depressed that I am suicidal or hate God while contracting an STD or spend my life as a mute and poor baker. </div>
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Fear #2 - Mediocrity </div>
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I am frequently racked with the unshakable worry of being mediocre or less than mediocre. In what? In LIFE! What if I never amount to anything? I have spent my life being "ok" or "good" at a lot of things but never "great" or "amazing" at anything. If I keep that up my life is going to go down a road I don't want to be on. </div>
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<ul>
<li>I could be a drop out. I would go home to Arizona and stop coming to school because I HATE it about this time of the semester. </li>
<li>I could end up with a mediocre job making less than 20 grand a year for the rest of my life. </li>
<li>I could be in debt the rest of my life. Dave Ramsey would never be proud of me because I'd never get out of my student loans, credit card debt and they might have to repo my car. </li>
<li>I could always be the girlfriend who reminded you that you want someone better. </li>
<li>I could go to the Terrestrial Kingdom. (Tangent for those who don't know what that is: In the Mormon/LDS church we believe that there are three levels of heaven. The first is the Celestial Kingdom where you'll live with God. Then it's the Terrestrial Kingdom for those who weren't bad but weren't good. Then there's the Telestial Kingdom for those who are bad.) I could not be good enough for the Celestial and not bad enough for Telestial, just mediocre Terrestrial... </li>
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Fear #3 - Having a Child</div>
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There are so many things that can go terribly wrong in parenthood and I am sure I wouldn't be spared a single one. </div>
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<ul>
<li>There's a possibility of a miscarriage or still born child, see fear #1. </li>
<li>There's a possibility of having two or more at the same time. (Thanks mom). </li>
<li>There's a possibility I could kill it. Putting it in the crib the wrong way, feeding it the wrong thing, forgetting it in the car, taking it out in public too soon, not teaching it to look before it crosses the street... </li>
<li>There's a possibility I wouldn't teach it what it needs to be taught: education wise and spiritually. </li>
<li>There's a possibility it would hate me.</li>
<li>There's a possibility I would screw it up psychologically. </li>
<li>There's a possibility I couldn't love it how a child needs to be loved. </li>
<li>There's a possibility somebody would hurt it. </li>
<li>I could fail. </li>
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These aren't your average fears, but they are the fears that keep me up at night. Hope you like learning more about me...Hope you don't think I'm too weird! </div>
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What are you afraid of? </div>
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</div>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-40811915548267846192012-03-11T15:37:00.000-07:002012-03-12T11:37:04.126-07:00Self-DisclosureI was out to dinner with some friends this week and we got talking about personalities. It is a known fact that I am an introvert through and through so I didn't think it would come as a shock to any of my school friends that there is a lot to me that they don't know.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PxwHJsRllwYiqRGjL7Of_jVICw-v0tBcUR4X3XEheBB15OW_6E9Ooz2gXCB7yoyursRnVOVJipEvowFaOu_dGGdSMVSdYrXIR5jXis17LGWrgM-Y_PLLMttVZUnPHP8zgQ0V3dKZ6L4/s1600/brimhall.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2PxwHJsRllwYiqRGjL7Of_jVICw-v0tBcUR4X3XEheBB15OW_6E9Ooz2gXCB7yoyursRnVOVJipEvowFaOu_dGGdSMVSdYrXIR5jXis17LGWrgM-Y_PLLMttVZUnPHP8zgQ0V3dKZ6L4/s1600/brimhall.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My home away from home... </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Through group projects, class, cooking lessons and countless hours in the SPSS lab in the Brimhall, Giulia thought she knew me pretty well and asked if there were even things she didn't know about me. On the spot I told her that I have about 6 layers to me and she knows me to about the 2nd level. Needless to say, she was shocked. But heck, out of the billions of people in the world I would say 6 know me at a level of 6 and they are all blood related and two people know me on a 5 level so to be on a level 2 after only 6 months is pretty good.<br />
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So, in the essence of self disclosure, I have decided to take part in a list. <a href="http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/30-things.html" target="_blank">Jessie</a> put up a list on her blog of 30 questions she would answer about herself, one for each day of the week. You guys won't be that lucky as to get me to blog every day, so I will take them in increments of 5, that is 5 a month. <br />
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<a href="http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/130-things-20-randoms.html" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">1. List 20 random facts about yourself.</a><br />
<a href="http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/230-things-fears.html" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">2. Describe 3 legitimate fears you have and explain how they became fears.</a><br />
<a href="http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/330-things-parents.html" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">3. Describe your relationship with your parents.</a><br />
<a href="http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/430-things-sixteen.html" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">4. List 10 things you would tell your 16 year-old self, if you could.</a><br />
<a href="http://cherishinghopesanddreams.blogspot.com/2012/01/530-things-happiest.html" style="background-color: white; color: #666666; font-family: 'Times New Roman', Times, FreeSerif, serif; font-size: 15px; line-height: 21px; text-decoration: none;">5. What are the 5 things that make you most happy right now?</a><br />
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Today, I will be answering #1<br />
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List 20 random facts about yourself.<br />
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<ol>
<li>I have freckled shoulders from summers full of swimming</li>
<li>My favorite cereal is Enviro Kids Koala Crisps</li>
<li>My favorite color is green </li>
<li>When I was a baby my shoulder would come out of place so often the doctor taught my mom how to put it back</li>
<li>I have only been given flowers once and they were from my sister</li>
<li>I would really like to go to a horse race someday. </li>
<li>Sometimes I can laugh so hard I pee</li>
<li>I have grey hairs</li>
<li>My favorite candy are the seasonal reeses that are shaped as things like eggs, pumpkins and christmas trees</li>
<li>A dirty sink drives me crazy</li>
<li>I could live off of Diet Dr. Pepper</li>
<li>Some day, I want a Pottery Barn couch</li>
<li>Puppies make me happy, but I am not a big fan of dogs. In fact, I am a little scared of them</li>
<li>According to my sister, I laugh in my sleep</li>
<li>I would like to learn how to shoot a gun</li>
<li>I love eating out and trying new places</li>
<li>An addiction of mine is movies</li>
<li>My nose often gets cold</li>
<li>I once gave a speech about how using the same knife in the peanut butter as the jam is a pet peeve of mine</li>
<li>I have a cabbage patch doll of my very own</li>
</ol>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-41178433588194335802012-03-06T00:16:00.000-08:002012-03-06T00:16:55.502-08:00I thought morning sickness was for pregnant women...The week of January 22 I was really sick to my stomach. I couldn't keep any food down except gluten free rice crispies and when I ate those I felt nauseated. On top of the nausea, I have this horrible upper abdominal pain, the only description I can come up with is either heartburn times 1000 or that I swallowed an SOS pad and it scratched the heck out of my insides.<br />
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Finally, after a week I went to the doctor. When the nurse checked me in she asked is there any chance you could be pregnant?<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
Let's see, I'm nauseated all the time mostly in the mornings. Just the thought of some foods makes me gag. Besides 7up and crackers, I ate a Cafe Rio salad 5 times last week because it was the only thing my mind thought I could eat without throwing up. I have heart burn x 1000. I'm tired all the time and cranky... Sounds like I could be, but oh with the whole no sex thing I'd have to say, "Nope, no way I'm pregnant." </blockquote>
After the visit I tried to get blood taken (the only guy in the lab to take my blood must have been a newbie. He poked me in both arms and both hands only to miss the veins in my arms and collapsed the ones in my hands. I had bruises for weeks!). I then went back the next day to get my blood taken again and the results were... drum roll please...normal. <br />
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So, the doctor gave me some medicines for acid reflux and ulcers to try for a week and see if it helped. It didn't so she ordered me an ultrasound for gallstones. No gallstones. So, she ordered a HIDA scan. This was an interesting one...</div>
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<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">A nuclear medicine Hepatobiliary scan (Hida scan) is used to evaluate the function of your gallbladder and sphincter of oddi dysfunction (SOD).</span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">Once I got into the procedure room, I got onto a little table and it moved me under a half cat-scan looking thing. </span></span></span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">They put an IV in my arm and that put a radioactive material into my body that tricked my liver into producing bile. </span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">After that had gone through me (there is a screen there where you watch it go through your body) they inject another hormone into my body that tells my gallbladder I just ate. My gallbladder will then be monitored to see how well it gets rid of the bile. </span></span></span></li>
<li><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">This whole process took about 2 hours. The second thing they injected in me made me really sick to my stomach so I just slept for most of it. (Even though the screen was super interesting to watch.) </span></li>
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After all of that, as strange as it sounds, I was hoping they would tell me my gallbladder wasn't working so they could take it out and I could go back to feeling good. Welp, the doctor called and the ol' gallbladder is working at 97%, better than average. Since I am still feeling like crap, she changes up my meds a little, takes a little more blood (this time the person was smart enough to warm up my hand before taking the blood out of it) and ordered an endoscopy. I had never had one before so I had no idea all the strings attached to such a request. </div>
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<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">The most surprising part of the test was that when I got to the hospital, I had to pay $100 upfront. Goodbye rent money... </span></span></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">I had to inconvenience someone to take me to the hospital and stay for 5 hours. Not only that, but I live on the other side of town and she had to come pick me up at my house and take me back after. (I was so out of it I didn't even think until right now to give her gas money...)</span></span></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">The longest part was waiting. I waited in the waiting room. Then I changed and got hooked up to monitors and IV's and waited. Then they took me into the procedure room and I waited.</span></span></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">The doctor came in and I was finally given the anesthesia. (Before she gave it to me I wanted to see how long I could hold out and not be effected. As the nurse stood over me and said "this could take 45 seconds" I was consciously trying to stay awake and I lasted about 3.5 seconds. That was at 1:15pm. After, I remember waking up with the doctor behind me talking to my friend and then it was 1:40. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">The doc said he didn't see any ulcers and that I needed to follow up with my primary physician. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">Once I was awake, I felt pretty lucid but they made me stay there to get fully woken up. The nurse said that I shouldn't make any phone calls because I could end up leaving the equivalent of a drunken message on someone's answering machine. </span></span></li>
<li><span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">Once I was home, I stayed up for quite a few more hours then I had an unrestful night of sleep. But in the middle of my 9 am class I was so tired I thought I would pass out, so I headed home and slept the entire day. </span></span></li>
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: 'Trebuchet MS', Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px; line-height: 19px;">With all those tests and a month and a half of not feeling well, turns out I have Irritable Bowel Syndrome and I am depressed. What the hell, can I get my 100 bucks back? </span></span></div>
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<br /></div>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-29888840334815214882012-03-01T10:31:00.000-08:002012-03-01T10:31:51.121-08:00Have I Eaten? Have I Prayed? Have I Loved? - Vintage<br />
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<i>This is part of my Vintage Blog Collection</i></div>
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Has every step of my life really been taken blindly?</div>
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Sometimes as I go from step to step it seems like I'm getting on and off a bucket seat from the haunted mansion ride at Disneyland. It just flows one, even, steady, emotionless speed. The path has an array of aesthetic effects but the flow stays the same. You can start and never stop. The beginning is a running start and the end (if you recognize it) is a running jump. If there weren't an employee there to tell you to get off you would literally go on for ever in the same melancholy motions. on...see...hear...feel...repeat...<br />
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Every decision in my life, I haven't had to make, things just happen. High school comes and goes, friends are placed in my path, job opportunities come, applications to college are accepted, favors are asked, love is found, love is lost, money is given, money is taken, rules come and go... I always just took it as fate. They offered me the job? I have to take it, fate gave me this opportunity. I got into that school? Well, I have to go there, the fates want me there. So-and-so likes me? I have to like him back, the fates want it.... If fate didn't want these things to happen, they wouldn't have come up. <span style="font-style: italic;">RIGHT???</span><br />
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It's almost like I'm a horse that takes people on the same path every day all day, and today, I am boringly taking it again. Somedays though, I get done with one round and feel this overwhelming sense of excitement that today will be the day for my real adventure. Only to find out it's the same dang path masked in a tropical climate or a fancy outfit.<br />
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I read today that "it's better to live your destiny imperfectly than live an imitation of someone else's life perfectly."<br />
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I think that up to this point in my life I have lived an imitated life as perfect as possible and don't have any clue what MY destiny is.When I try and imagine a change in speed or a directional change that would enhance the ride, I don't know what I'd do or even if I should do anything different. I really don't know who I am. What do I love to do? What are my passions? What would make ME happy? What makes my life, MY LIFE?Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-40835489468467616322012-02-27T10:41:00.001-08:002012-02-27T10:42:30.064-08:00Domesticity<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3nBdzIhWsttxSqOcEFRG9MClYsvr6j3qE4FBY-EhOHio1a8oSdQFvI4IAqRav-4P9nIzrYtE4DhhklV7Ibw-XhPsLH7jLphnO9TQeIdVMgSP9b8PeOeeUCzqO7HjUZeVtsDA9Dd6Eb4/s1600/B-Flattened+Tortilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a><br />
The word domestic may as well be tattooed on my forehead because everything about me screams Domestic. I have been told on more than one occasion that I was born in the wrong time period.<br />
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If I had it my way, this would be me. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYxD0fKvCipRWIgNdGaZp3GnKRfc1BfIabLTkh6ayFYtsah6YTaaEH_Zxet_CpXe2rn5O1PhOGGG9cLOxVWQOrrzw9cvsCcAUeoxrYdSW7eb1mD0JH0xYKVaL59pBzM7RzJ0anDHInJA/s1600/1950s-kitchen.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjYxD0fKvCipRWIgNdGaZp3GnKRfc1BfIabLTkh6ayFYtsah6YTaaEH_Zxet_CpXe2rn5O1PhOGGG9cLOxVWQOrrzw9cvsCcAUeoxrYdSW7eb1mD0JH0xYKVaL59pBzM7RzJ0anDHInJA/s320/1950s-kitchen.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ok, so if you know me you know that is a lie. Being a house wife never made it to my list of things I want to do. However, growing up my mom taught me how to cook and sew so I do have some domesticity in me, albeit very little. But, every once and a while I get an inkling to dust off the ol' cookbook. </div>
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This weekend I was missing Arizona and family. The last few times I was visiting AZ my brother <a href="http://akersandbennion.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Adam</a> and his friends took me on a midnight run to get gay bar tacos in phoenix. The taco stand is only opened on the weekends so that is why the homesickness set in. Naturally, to quench my homesickness I decided to make homemade gay bar tacos. </div>
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After getting recipes and taking a trip to the Rancho Market I was ready to get started. <a href="http://davechalk.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Dave</a> came over to help and Giulia joined us later to make the salad and try the tacos. I got all my recipes from the blog <a href="http://www.mexicoinmykitchen.com/2009/02/how-to-make-steak-tacoscomo-hacer-tacos.html" target="_blank">Mexico in My Kitchen</a>. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcqj-gVQf3l69eJn5JcJ28c1juALehKXVVAptUWHYu5TM4OeblMjxejpJgHRT0hjq8HaoJVP_OSlLPuer_ADLV90Rn2hRDkyptPBb5qcUJXs0hhy8kE9zcKS41le2kUJHN3Sp92LHY9g/s1600/B-Us.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAcqj-gVQf3l69eJn5JcJ28c1juALehKXVVAptUWHYu5TM4OeblMjxejpJgHRT0hjq8HaoJVP_OSlLPuer_ADLV90Rn2hRDkyptPBb5qcUJXs0hhy8kE9zcKS41le2kUJHN3Sp92LHY9g/s320/B-Us.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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There were many parts to these tacos. </div>
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* Tortillas * Tomatillo Salsa * Pico de Gallo * Meat * Assembly * Repeat </blockquote>
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<span style="text-align: left;">For the tortillas you have to make the dough </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqHopBewLMqIjxDTrwNNZKO1d685RHy8_1iQqctDcixCE3_OhizEDtqQz3P8DmZs3swZGoRD46ilPLmTgvQtdM4F9O1IrsDU-uQUFdRKRgE54bgOAW-w1Svc2CW0vWyr1VKn3ckQwtBtI/s1600/B-flour.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqHopBewLMqIjxDTrwNNZKO1d685RHy8_1iQqctDcixCE3_OhizEDtqQz3P8DmZs3swZGoRD46ilPLmTgvQtdM4F9O1IrsDU-uQUFdRKRgE54bgOAW-w1Svc2CW0vWyr1VKn3ckQwtBtI/s320/B-flour.jpg" width="313" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfOvYz_PFx4vrPxuAnodIU2CqDtmi9RcmgeBUFF_69ehxn8Pf9PwZc_tK0_PEW674AWHNm-HKuhUDCC34RiyjnJjU5A1w8P0KGp3z6WzrDd9MPkHI6dSFC6qtZPFHyuz0nkjQ9fFhqhQ/s1600/B-masa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTfOvYz_PFx4vrPxuAnodIU2CqDtmi9RcmgeBUFF_69ehxn8Pf9PwZc_tK0_PEW674AWHNm-HKuhUDCC34RiyjnJjU5A1w8P0KGp3z6WzrDd9MPkHI6dSFC6qtZPFHyuz0nkjQ9fFhqhQ/s320/B-masa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Roll the dough into balls</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRh9Ta9sa1Xazma5tqlSJjeIynjgsC0uVH3OUXlh-dUUvrGWSOVW9btdfzEUMg2yK7ftvOluzbxaKaNu-lcSTe7xM0tK-QVDeiHEeY8lgtp0XMV1tbeI75hrwdN1I7Nx9s6mctR1A3cY/s1600/B-Balls.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjfRh9Ta9sa1Xazma5tqlSJjeIynjgsC0uVH3OUXlh-dUUvrGWSOVW9btdfzEUMg2yK7ftvOluzbxaKaNu-lcSTe7xM0tK-QVDeiHEeY8lgtp0XMV1tbeI75hrwdN1I7Nx9s6mctR1A3cY/s320/B-Balls.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Flatten them in a tortilla press</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirslGORf39qsC1W98W52O2U1xVghr4kztsDrrc0PCm6ivsh-KXA0p0xK9HGqtAS6aP-cQjNZfvfxD_RbOwY6uxMLXEKwdKRLZsU6s6fV2vIEkh696JfLsqLxtIHbCAVuWc20VM1sNoR04/s1600/B-ball.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirslGORf39qsC1W98W52O2U1xVghr4kztsDrrc0PCm6ivsh-KXA0p0xK9HGqtAS6aP-cQjNZfvfxD_RbOwY6uxMLXEKwdKRLZsU6s6fV2vIEkh696JfLsqLxtIHbCAVuWc20VM1sNoR04/s320/B-ball.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3nBdzIhWsttxSqOcEFRG9MClYsvr6j3qE4FBY-EhOHio1a8oSdQFvI4IAqRav-4P9nIzrYtE4DhhklV7Ibw-XhPsLH7jLphnO9TQeIdVMgSP9b8PeOeeUCzqO7HjUZeVtsDA9Dd6Eb4/s1600/B-Flattened+Tortilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: -webkit-auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja3nBdzIhWsttxSqOcEFRG9MClYsvr6j3qE4FBY-EhOHio1a8oSdQFvI4IAqRav-4P9nIzrYtE4DhhklV7Ibw-XhPsLH7jLphnO9TQeIdVMgSP9b8PeOeeUCzqO7HjUZeVtsDA9Dd6Eb4/s320/B-Flattened+Tortilla.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">And cook them </span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJNPydG3qfPuf9i0wP6eYQAmqasKd0FFIRUShHzsNc3Z2rOCpEzGUInEdCuOMX027t0Xp9aHPZpYYGyox9u2Ve0G3IpvRtDcieMBOFmzIIjaulSXdW7MgTh5pwakuX3XJpWZIyMPOe-9w/s1600/B-Tortilla.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="259" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJNPydG3qfPuf9i0wP6eYQAmqasKd0FFIRUShHzsNc3Z2rOCpEzGUInEdCuOMX027t0Xp9aHPZpYYGyox9u2Ve0G3IpvRtDcieMBOFmzIIjaulSXdW7MgTh5pwakuX3XJpWZIyMPOe-9w/s320/B-Tortilla.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_h9oIvtBUQ022S2gcMhIlScLmr1kTxXczWjz4itxV59eSwFCU8IhY9DVAowdNebmW_sVfimt-gY5aT_15Lq_-Wi64pz6nAvlOmPc-8968ox9z5DoSL7e5V5PWFaJ2SSmuUR7-r1fKYw/s1600/B-cooked+tortillas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="309" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM_h9oIvtBUQ022S2gcMhIlScLmr1kTxXczWjz4itxV59eSwFCU8IhY9DVAowdNebmW_sVfimt-gY5aT_15Lq_-Wi64pz6nAvlOmPc-8968ox9z5DoSL7e5V5PWFaJ2SSmuUR7-r1fKYw/s320/B-cooked+tortillas.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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For the tomatillo salsa you cook the tomatillos and serrano peppers</div>
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then blend them up with onions and garlic. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSFYdrrynx46C_FcCwxylb1Rc6s7qx89V0tPYYjllXBBHsMBuqvlP9modcqlfHjT3WoZAcaciHHcqggifom5XcfokNdPZARTRZ_6T_pgv1qk53rQMO-W4DTgB1ATX4xUA0_FOJqbcBcE/s1600/B-Salsa.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="304" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPSFYdrrynx46C_FcCwxylb1Rc6s7qx89V0tPYYjllXBBHsMBuqvlP9modcqlfHjT3WoZAcaciHHcqggifom5XcfokNdPZARTRZ_6T_pgv1qk53rQMO-W4DTgB1ATX4xUA0_FOJqbcBcE/s320/B-Salsa.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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For the pico de gallo you chop up the veggies and </div>
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mix them up with lime juice. </div>
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After you cook and cut up the meat</div>
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then you assemble the taco! </div>
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I thought that they turned out great. Frankly, I was surprised how legit each item turned out. </div>
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<i>This post has been brought to you thanks to my mom for teaching me how to cook and Adam for introducing me to gay bar tacos. </i><br />
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<br />Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-29972259668333690722012-02-22T09:36:00.000-08:002012-02-22T09:36:20.092-08:00Shuffle<div class="separator tr_bq" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
We had a three day weekend this past week so Helga, and I drove down to Arizona.</div>
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On the drive to and fro Arizona, the song "This Year" by The Mountain Goats, came on my iphone's shuffle a couple of times. </div>
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When I listened to the chorus, it felt oddly like it does every morning I wake up. </div>
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It is almost as if I have to give myself a little pep talk every day. And without noticing it, my pep talk was in the form of the chorus from this song. </div>
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<i>I am going to make it though this year if it kills me.<br />I am going to make it though this year if it kills me.</i></blockquote>
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Weird, but fitting.</div>
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As I listened to it in the car, I put my own words in the verses which were quite entertaining </div>
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(if you know me well enough you might be able to figure my lyrics out, if not then you will always have to wonder). Then, I just left the chorus as is. </div>
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And yes, I will make it through this year if it kills me. . . </div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.youtube.com/embed/ii6kJaGiRaI?feature=player_embedded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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Then, "Fast Lane" by Eminem and Royce made its way into the line up.<br />
There really wasn't anything in this song that is applicable to my life.<br />
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But when I heard the chorus:<br />
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<i>Livin’ life in the fast lane<br />Movin’ at the speed of life and I can’t slow down<br />Only got a gallon in the gas tank<br />But I’m almost at the finish line, so I can’t stop now<br />I don’t really know where I’m headed, just enjoyin’ the ride<br />Just gon’ roll ’til I drop and ride ’til I die<br />I’m livin’ life in the fast lane (Pedal to the metal)<br />I’m livin’ life in the fast lane (Pedal to the metal)</i></blockquote>
I thought to myself, why isn't this the pep talk I have to give myself every morning? Can you imagine? Instead of bribing myself to get out of bed in the morning I'd be like:<br />
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"Man Chelsie, you are doing so many amazing things with your life, living every minute to its fullest, you deserve 5 more minutes of sleep. No more than that though because you have more incredibly amazing things to do today!" </blockquote>
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</span></blockquote>Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2010396674073917103.post-79003010675443145222012-02-17T23:56:00.000-08:002012-02-17T23:56:46.516-08:00Happy B-Day AZ!I spent my entire life hating Arizona.<br />
I always told myself (and everyone I know) that I was getting the heck out-a here as soon as I could.<br />
At first, I started traveling as a means of getting out in small increments.<br />
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I left for Idaho just after high school, convinced that I would never come back. I didn't know that towns as small as Rexburg even existed, so that only lasted a few months.<br />
I then served a mission for 18months in Brazil. Even though I loved it I was so ready to come home. At the time, I was convinced it was because I wanted to use a washer and dryer again...<br />
I spent a summer in Virginia and spent every available "anytime minute" on the phone with my family.<br />
Now, I have moved out and up. I am in Utah for school and when I drove out with mesa's polluted sky in my rearview mirror, I thought I'd never look back.<br />
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Here it is, February and I am back in mesa for a visit. Yes, I was here in November for Thanksgiving. Yes, I was here in December for Christmas. Yes, I was here in January for MLK day. And yes, I will be coming back at least one more time before April to get my hair done. (A very logical reason to make a 10 hour car drive each way...)<br />
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Can we say HOME SICK or maybe HOMEBODY is a better description.<br />
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I have learned for my past escape attempts, that I will eventually end up back here. I love it here. I love everything from the freeways to the smells, but mostly I love my family. All of whom are here in Mesa.<br />
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So, here's a tip of the hat to AZ and all it has done to make me who I am.<br />
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Happy Birthday, until we meet again.<br />
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<br />Chelsiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10824482222859593392noreply@blogger.com0