<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885</id><updated>2011-08-04T03:07:43.332-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A fistful of change and absolutely no sense</title><subtitle type='html'>The random ruminations of a raw fish junkie</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>191</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2595111268185025672</id><published>2010-10-14T14:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-14T14:31:15.090-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The golden ticket</title><content type='html'>I'm in a good mood and I don't exactly know why. Don't you just love that? I even ran out of time this morning before work and had to rush getting dressed, which usually puts me in a bad mood. It must be my lucky day. Maybe I should play the lottery...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2595111268185025672?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2595111268185025672/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2595111268185025672' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2595111268185025672'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2595111268185025672'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/10/golden-ticket.html' title='The golden ticket'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3933044659708437534</id><published>2010-09-20T13:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-20T13:18:53.541-07:00</updated><title type='text'>More</title><content type='html'>Soon I will have more time for reading, writing, sleeping, planning, laughing, cooking, cleaning, organizing, planning, dreaming, adventures, running, thinking, budgeting, Craig.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3933044659708437534?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3933044659708437534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3933044659708437534' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3933044659708437534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3933044659708437534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/09/more.html' title='More'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4120777724065800457</id><published>2010-08-31T06:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-31T06:14:07.584-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Captain Obvious</title><content type='html'>If you do stupid things when you're drunk, &lt;b&gt;don't drink&lt;/b&gt;. It's that simple. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The end.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4120777724065800457?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4120777724065800457/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4120777724065800457' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4120777724065800457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4120777724065800457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/08/dear-everyone-in-world.html' title='Captain Obvious'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4540639466820160902</id><published>2010-08-12T22:41:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-12T23:24:47.342-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The crazies</title><content type='html'>"Life is wasted on ... people."&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Amen. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will never understand the eccentricities (or perhaps utter rudeness) of people. Please explain why, when I am trying to write down a phone message at the office, people rattle off the numbers in one really quick breath. "22678701984765638." Is this a race? Are they being attacked by wild dogs that will give up as soon as the telephone call is completed? I also love it when people volunteer the spelling on the easy half of their names (E-R-I-N), but don't even attempt anything for the trickier (Kollar? Kohler? Koller?) part. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hope I'm not "one of those people" to someone out there, but I don't see how I couldn't be. I wonder what I do to annoy the gas station attendant, Safeway cashier, bank teller, or any other worker in the world. I wonder what they say to their friends about me. Would they prefer to never see my face again? That's the tough thing about living on this planet: people. There are so, so many people here... And all of us are pretty crazy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4540639466820160902?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4540639466820160902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4540639466820160902' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4540639466820160902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4540639466820160902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/08/crazies.html' title='The crazies'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3164101575107672993</id><published>2010-08-09T10:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-09T10:40:52.486-07:00</updated><title type='text'>TMI</title><content type='html'>I hate how people feel the need to share the most mundane tidbits of their lives via Facebook or Twitter. "I just walked to the store. I'm sweaty now." Um, okay, good for you. Is that really the most pressing piece of information in your head right now? &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Worse than these little random chunks of info are the folks who have paragraphs posted everywhere (usually with typos). Here's a great example: "witnessed an accident on I205. F150 had blue garbage bins in it and one flew out in the fast lane and got the left front fender of a car. it was crazy seeing all the cars try not to hit the bin. I actually stopped right next to bin and pulled it off the interstate." So. Many. Details. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3164101575107672993?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3164101575107672993/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3164101575107672993' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3164101575107672993'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3164101575107672993'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/08/tmi.html' title='TMI'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3326380194985119880</id><published>2010-08-07T13:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-09T10:23:34.253-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Familiar landscapes</title><content type='html'>... And here I am again, after a long stretch of neglect. Did you miss me? This time I intend to stay on top of my blogging. Nobody should keep thoughts in their head for too long, especially somebody as crazed and frantic as me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3326380194985119880?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3326380194985119880/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3326380194985119880' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3326380194985119880'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3326380194985119880'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/08/familiar-landscapes.html' title='Familiar landscapes'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8318936698688652044</id><published>2010-05-11T19:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-12T09:43:25.413-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodbye, and good riddance</title><content type='html'>For anybody out there looking for an interesting read, check out "Dear Old Love: Anonymous Notes to Former Crushes, Sweethearts, Husbands, Wives &amp;amp; Ones That Got Away." Some of the messages in this little book are happy, some are bitter, some are funny, and some are just plain heartbreaking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here are a few of my favorites:&lt;br /&gt;"Remember in tenth grade when I said we should meet at Victoria's Secret, and you showed up with your friends? I was giving you a visa to the land of adult sexuality, and you tried to smuggle three &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;doofuses&lt;/span&gt; across the border."&lt;br /&gt;"I say 'I love you' to people all the time now, to make that time I said it to you mean less."&lt;br /&gt;"Coming home to you never got old. Every day was like a miracle."&lt;br /&gt;"You were too old to be a pothead."&lt;br /&gt;"I deserve better, but I don't want better."&lt;br /&gt;"I put in your initials when I get a high score in Centipede."&lt;br /&gt;"When I see you, what I really want to ask about is your vagina. It'd be like asking about a beloved dog. 'How's the vagina? What's it up to? Any adorable mischief lately? Give it a pat for me!' "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure what I'd say to any of my ex-boyfriends. There would be no hint of longing, that's for damn certain, and I'm not even sure if I care enough to be angry. Maybe that's the message itself: "I stopped caring when I met Craig." Yeah, I guess that's it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, what would you say to a former lover?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8318936698688652044?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8318936698688652044/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8318936698688652044' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8318936698688652044'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8318936698688652044'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/05/goodbye-and-good-riddance.html' title='Goodbye, and good riddance'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-841332557772461274</id><published>2010-04-12T22:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-09T17:03:25.061-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Potpourri</title><content type='html'>- The girls and I are going to be renting a house soon... In 22 days, to be exact. I'm excited. I still hate moving.&lt;br /&gt;- There is a new episode of The Pacific to watch tomorrow after work and after the gym. I love having something to look forward to.&lt;br /&gt;- The Blazers won tonight, and their last game of the season is Wednesday.&lt;br /&gt;- I'm running a half marathon in October. It's time for the training to begin!&lt;br /&gt;- Beyonce is just now learning to drive. Ha.&lt;br /&gt;- I need to start living a little.&lt;br /&gt;- There is nothing better than a really good foot massage.&lt;br /&gt;- Michael Buble is a musical genius.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-841332557772461274?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/841332557772461274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=841332557772461274' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/841332557772461274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/841332557772461274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/04/potpourri.html' title='Potpourri'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-6036688618117956332</id><published>2010-04-07T10:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-07T10:55:12.526-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Afraid of the dark</title><content type='html'>I have developed a very bad habit lately: panicking. I'm lying in bed, the lights are off, my eyes are covered, my head is resting comfortably on my pillows and WHAM! I'm hit with fear and worry. "What if I lose my job(s)? What if my dad can't find work? What if an earthquake hits? What if we don't get approved to rent this new house? What if we do get approved to rent this new house and it's haunted? What if the girls and I can't afford this new house? What if my car gets broken into tonight? How am I going to find time to move? How am I going to afford to move? What if I get audited by the IRS? What if I have a stroke? What if something happens to Craig? What if something happens to the girls? What if the cat throws up and/or poops in the living room? What if I have to get my other wisdom teeth pulled? Are my library books overdue?" I tell myself to calm down and just sleep, but it doesn't work. I can't seem to ignore these thoughts at night. When I wake up the next morning I'm fine, albeit a little tired. What gives?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-6036688618117956332?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/6036688618117956332/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=6036688618117956332' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6036688618117956332'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6036688618117956332'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/04/afraid-of-dark.html' title='Afraid of the dark'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2687414351301377284</id><published>2010-04-05T08:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-14T22:19:05.893-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The government totally sucks</title><content type='html'>Ah Government, you're doing a bang-up job. Thanks for taking my hard-earned money and giving it to those who are far less deserving (seriously). Thanks for bailing out the big corporations while allowing small businesses to flounder. Thanks for wasting countless dollars to mail a warning letter that the census is going to be sent out, and then a reminder that I should have received and completed my census (I'd turned it in a week prior). Thanks for letting losers collect unemployment checks while sitting around playing video games and smoking weed. I'm so happy to be pumping everything I have into such a flawed system.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2687414351301377284?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2687414351301377284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2687414351301377284' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2687414351301377284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2687414351301377284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/03/government-totally-sucks.html' title='The government totally sucks'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5100065219316898779</id><published>2010-03-28T08:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-29T12:30:06.170-07:00</updated><title type='text'>WOULD YOU RATHER</title><content type='html'>Have &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;everyone's&lt;/span&gt; sympathy or be completely ignored?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work with people who are incredibly smart or incredibly dumb?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go blind or go deaf?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Catch your significant other cheating or your father cheating?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Win a lot of money once or earn a respectable amount throughout your lifetime?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Be a really good cook or a really good eater?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Live off the government or live off your parents?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Drive a really nice car but live in it or live in a nice house but  always have to take the bus?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Enjoy a mild winter or a mild summer?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Live an hour away from a job you love or minutes away from a job you  hate?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5100065219316898779?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5100065219316898779/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5100065219316898779' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5100065219316898779'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5100065219316898779'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/03/this-or-that.html' title='WOULD YOU RATHER'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8219814513287390658</id><published>2010-03-25T09:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-26T21:13:51.471-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Take it or leave it</title><content type='html'>Things I can't do:&lt;br /&gt;Wear mismatched socks&lt;br /&gt;Fart on command&lt;br /&gt;Get excited about golf&lt;br /&gt;Taxes&lt;br /&gt;Sleep in&lt;br /&gt;Cook the appropriate amount of spaghetti noodles&lt;br /&gt;Talk about my feelings&lt;br /&gt;Drink tequila&lt;br /&gt;Come up with a really good excuse&lt;br /&gt;Curl my hair&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things I can do:&lt;br /&gt;Clean, clean, clean&lt;br /&gt;Drive it like it's stolen&lt;br /&gt;Burp on command&lt;br /&gt;Clip coupons&lt;br /&gt;Daydream&lt;br /&gt;Take one for the team&lt;br /&gt;Waste time&lt;br /&gt;Make killer guacamole&lt;br /&gt;Give myself a pedicure&lt;br /&gt;Assist&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8219814513287390658?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8219814513287390658/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8219814513287390658' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8219814513287390658'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8219814513287390658'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/03/take-it-or-leave-it.html' title='Take it or leave it'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8266879516548919876</id><published>2010-03-24T23:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-24T23:31:24.745-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad to the bone</title><content type='html'>I love my friends, but there are times when I don't want to be around them. Does this make me a bad friend?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my boyfriend, but there are times when I don't want to be around  him. Am I a bad girlfriend?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love my family, but there are times I don't want to be around them. Am I a bad sister/daughter?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I wish for bad things to happen to random people, just so I can feel better about myself... Nothing too awful or life-changing, mind you, just little bumps here and there to make their day worse. A flat tire. An iffy haircut. A speeding ticket. A kid that won't stop crying. A dropped cell phone. A dented fender. Forgotten keys. Disappointment. It's best if I get to witness such minor disasters. Does this make me a bad person? &lt;---- Don't worry, I know this makes me a bad person; this may actually be the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;definition&lt;/span&gt; of a bad person.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8266879516548919876?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8266879516548919876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8266879516548919876' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8266879516548919876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8266879516548919876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/03/bad-to-bone.html' title='Bad to the bone'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8524909511309456683</id><published>2010-03-15T11:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T11:58:54.465-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dirty laundry</title><content type='html'>Why is it that I can work for an entire month without a day off, yet the act of doing laundry feels insurmountable? A relatively simple process -- wash, dry, fold, put away -- makes me crazy. I hate it. I also hate opening the dryer to find somebody's clothes sitting in there, which, sadly enough, happens about 99 percent of the time. Apparently my roommates/sisters don't know how to collect their clothes from the dryer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8524909511309456683?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8524909511309456683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8524909511309456683' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8524909511309456683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8524909511309456683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/03/dirty-laundry.html' title='Dirty laundry'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4434044236463108221</id><published>2010-03-07T21:46:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T22:05:28.247-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A mind is a terrible thing to waste</title><content type='html'>I feel like I ramble and/or repeat myself a lot. Have I run out of words, or did I run out of thoughts to fill the words I am forced to constantly say? Right now I'd like to try going an entire day without speaking. It was terrible when I lost my voice a few months ago and could not speak for three days, but all I'm asking for is the option of speaking when I actually want to. A good majority of what I say these days is meaningless dribble I've been taught to say like a trained monkey, and as a result, my mind has turned into mush. When do I get to exercise my brain again?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4434044236463108221?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4434044236463108221/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4434044236463108221' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4434044236463108221'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4434044236463108221'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/03/mind-is-terrible-thing-to-waste.html' title='A mind is a terrible thing to waste'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7389528822584043756</id><published>2010-03-06T21:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-06T21:36:31.085-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A sunny feeling</title><content type='html'>Everything is better when the sun is out -- and by everything, I mean &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;everything. &lt;/span&gt;The sun's magic rays transform the world into a playground of happiness whenever they appear. On my way to work this morning I thought about how thankful I am to be alive. I certainly wasn't excited about missing out on such gorgeous weather, but I was in a good mood. I could use more days like today; in fact, I think we all need more days like today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7389528822584043756?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7389528822584043756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7389528822584043756' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7389528822584043756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7389528822584043756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/03/sunny-feeling.html' title='A sunny feeling'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2619263169092123707</id><published>2010-03-02T22:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T22:41:40.583-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Enough is enough</title><content type='html'>:::begin rant:::&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All day I am told what to do, when to do it, how to do it, how not to do it, that I should do it faster, that I need to do this first and then get back to doing those 18 other things I was in the middle of, etc., etc. Hurry up. Slow down. Put your right foot in and shake it all about. It's always, "Bring me the Hillier file,"or, "Get me a copy of the complaint," or "Watch the door." Allllll. Daaaaay. Looooong. And lately it's been nonstop, since working back-to-back-to-back doesn't offer any sort of break. I'm seriously considering driving into a highway divider at very high speed. As much as I love being constantly bossed around, I would love even more for people to please just treat me with some respect. I know I work for you, I will never question that part, and I certainly don't need to be reminded every minute of every day that I am inferior. It seems like all I really do is take orders like some discipline-challenged dog. Is this really why I went to college?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:::end rant:::&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2619263169092123707?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2619263169092123707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2619263169092123707' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2619263169092123707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2619263169092123707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/03/enough-is-enough.html' title='Enough is enough'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8983145677998381733</id><published>2010-02-27T21:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-27T22:08:05.047-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tell me why</title><content type='html'>Why is it that half an hour at work seems like &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so&lt;/span&gt; long, but a half an hour spent getting ready for work goes by in a flash?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why isn't self-reliance encouraged more?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does anybody care about the Kardashians?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why are the Winter Olympics so much worse than the Summer Olympics?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why couldn't I appreciate college more while I was in it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do so many people complain about the price of Starbucks while religiously forking over their money to the company?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does the NBA hate the Portland Trailblazers?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does Kristin Stewart have an acting career?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8983145677998381733?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8983145677998381733/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8983145677998381733' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8983145677998381733'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8983145677998381733'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/02/tell-me-why.html' title='Tell me why'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7043741115826608284</id><published>2010-02-26T22:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-26T22:28:24.341-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Spring cleaning</title><content type='html'>Writing is my therapy. It makes me think, feel, and work through the issues in my life like nothing else can. The thing is, for the past few months (or more), I haven't written. Nothing. Nada. Zilch. I haven't written anything or published anything, and at first I seemed to be okay with it, but now I know I'm not. There are cobwebs in the corners of my brain where there used to be knowledge, and it's about time I cleaned them up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hooray for more hard work.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7043741115826608284?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7043741115826608284/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7043741115826608284' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7043741115826608284'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7043741115826608284'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/02/spring-cleaning.html' title='Spring cleaning'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2824185052614907939</id><published>2010-02-26T07:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-26T07:41:04.443-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Lost and found?</title><content type='html'>I seem to have lost my lust for life. Is this normal? And more importantly, how do I get it back?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2824185052614907939?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2824185052614907939/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2824185052614907939' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2824185052614907939'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2824185052614907939'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/02/lost-and-found.html' title='Lost and found?'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8464204827953499000</id><published>2010-01-18T08:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T10:38:24.258-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wake the sun</title><content type='html'>I love the calm that fills early mornings. I wake up, feed the cat, and put on some coffee. I contemplate what the day will bring. I scan my e-mails and Facebook page to see what may or may not have happened while I was in dreamland. I brush my teeth in time to the music in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By 10:30 those moments of morning perfection are little more than a memory -- At this hour, everyone is awake and running at breakneck speed. Sadly, I am too. The daily grind has begun with a vengeance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;:::sigh:::&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8464204827953499000?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8464204827953499000/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8464204827953499000' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8464204827953499000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8464204827953499000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/01/wake-sun.html' title='Wake the sun'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-271190800940739903</id><published>2010-01-15T10:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-15T10:43:20.521-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe next year</title><content type='html'>Dear Blog,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry I let you die. The year 2009 was like a marathon, and as I stumbled toward the finish line, I was unable to muster enough energy to keep you updated. Please don't blame yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely yours,&lt;br /&gt;Me&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-271190800940739903?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/271190800940739903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=271190800940739903' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/271190800940739903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/271190800940739903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2010/01/maybe-next-year.html' title='Maybe next year'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3164310747050769396</id><published>2009-10-25T23:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-25T23:36:04.794-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Easy come, easy go</title><content type='html'>September 2009 was great -- No, make that &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;spectacular&lt;/span&gt;. October of this year? Not so much. Perhaps it's bad in comparison to the month before (really, how can anything compete with Las Vegas, Keith Urban, and Miranda's 21st birthday?), or maybe it's just bad. Let's hope this is merely a bump in an otherwise smooth road, since June, July, and August were all very good as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all rests on you, November. No pressure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3164310747050769396?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3164310747050769396/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3164310747050769396' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3164310747050769396'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3164310747050769396'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/10/easy-come-easy-go.html' title='Easy come, easy go'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3099792791523629930</id><published>2009-10-18T19:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T08:44:44.704-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Inside and out</title><content type='html'>I finally received confirmation today of something I always suspected: Nobody out there will ever really know anybody else. We think we do, but we are so very wrong. Most of us don't even truly know ourselves. Life, why must you be so complicated?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3099792791523629930?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3099792791523629930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3099792791523629930' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3099792791523629930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3099792791523629930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/10/inside-and-out.html' title='Inside and out'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8483562519012007283</id><published>2009-10-17T21:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T08:45:39.253-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Different scenery</title><content type='html'>The seasons change, but I stay the same: I'm bored, I'm tired, I have no money. Sick of hearing it? Me too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Craig was joking a few weeks ago about us running away somewhere, and oh how badly I wished he'd meant it. I am ready to trade these places for new territories. I long for an adventure of my own, where I don't have to worry about who is doing what or how everyone is getting along or why something wasn't done and on and on and on and on. I don't want any of that. It's my life and I should be living it for me -- At the same time, I don't want to miss out on everything that's going on here (which kind of seems to be happening anyway). I'm not hinting at a vacation, either, because you still have to come back to reality after that's all over; I just want something different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least I have a five-year plan to look forward to.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8483562519012007283?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8483562519012007283/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8483562519012007283' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8483562519012007283'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8483562519012007283'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/10/change-of-scenery.html' title='Different scenery'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-9029412193601447517</id><published>2009-10-13T22:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-19T08:44:25.899-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fail</title><content type='html'>Dear Seth Rogen,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Please don't ever make a movie like "Observe and Report" again. I only laughed a few times during the 86 minutes I wasted on this garbage, one of which was the fat naked man's running scene. The rest of the time? Not so much. I'm still angry at how stupid the whole thing was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S. I don't really like you anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-9029412193601447517?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/9029412193601447517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=9029412193601447517' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/9029412193601447517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/9029412193601447517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/10/fail.html' title='Fail'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4437863188800151508</id><published>2009-10-12T10:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T11:01:51.902-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The upside to freezing</title><content type='html'>Instead of complaining about winter this year, I'm going to list off all the benefits of the frigid season:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Snuggling is almost a requirement.&lt;br /&gt;*Scarves.&lt;br /&gt;*The crunching of leaves, and later, icicles.&lt;br /&gt;*It's the perfect temperature and atmosphere to burn candles. I love candles.&lt;br /&gt;*Decorations.&lt;br /&gt;*Treats galore.&lt;br /&gt;*Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;*Cute socks.&lt;br /&gt;*Warming up in front of the fire.&lt;br /&gt;*Blazer basketball.&lt;br /&gt;*Christmas music.&lt;br /&gt;*Pumpkin smoothies and sweet potato fries at Burgerville.&lt;br /&gt;*Hot cocoa.&lt;br /&gt;*Wrapping presents.&lt;br /&gt;*Watching Christmas movies with the girls.&lt;br /&gt;*It reminds me of Pullman.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4437863188800151508?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4437863188800151508/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4437863188800151508' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4437863188800151508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4437863188800151508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/10/upside-to-freezing.html' title='The upside to freezing'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5448069728903302297</id><published>2009-10-09T11:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-09T22:00:50.046-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mysterious ways</title><content type='html'>Katie Pierson is a 20-year-old sweetheart with beauty queen good looks and a personality to match. This year she's studying abroad in Spain, and her mom told me a story yesterday that I just have to share. It goes something like this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;A few days ago, Katie went to a store near her home in Sevilla to buy some food. The place was really busy, so when it came time for her to pay she hurriedly handed over the amount without thinking about it. Before setting out on the return trip, she tucked a candy bar inside her backpack; the rest she carried in her arms. On the walk home, Katie noticed a couple of small children digging through a dumpster. The two children were skinny, dirty, and clearly very hungry. The road was busy with passersby, yet the air was filled with silence. Nobody spoke. Nobody coughed. Nobody gave the starving youngsters a second glance. Nobody, that is, except Katie. She walked over and handed the children everything she had worked so hard to buy. The children readily accepted the gift, showering Katie with gratitude, and at the same time, the people who witnessed the generous act began shooting her dirty looks. It was as though they believed her act of compassion was done out of arrogance. Katie continued home, unsure of where the children disappeared to or if she'd ever see them again. A little while after arriving in her room, she pulled the candy bar out of her backpack and began examining the receipt. She then discovered that, during the chaos at the busy store, she had actually only been charged for the candy she was holding in her hands. Everything else -- all the food she had given away -- was not on there. It was as though God meant for her to deliver those goods to the starving children. It was a miracle.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I almost started crying when I heard this story. All day I'd been fighting back tears of frustration and anger, but after hearing this act of selflessness I realized that everything I'd been feeling was still for me... I was frustrated for me, sad for me, angry for me. There's a girl halfway across the world who willingly gave everything in her grasp to those in need, yet I still struggle to keep my mind off my own little problems. It's stupid. Katie's story has inspired me to be more loving to my fellow man, and I hope by sharing it on here, others will do so as well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5448069728903302297?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5448069728903302297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5448069728903302297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5448069728903302297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5448069728903302297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/10/mysterious-ways.html' title='Mysterious ways'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4906528008475285968</id><published>2009-10-03T20:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-03T21:09:01.498-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'll  be back</title><content type='html'>Vegas was a crazy, fun, awesome, amazing, exciting, fabulous, exhausting, bizarre, overwhelming, intoxicating, expensive, jaw-dropping adventure. We got back more than a week ago and I'm still recovering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait to do it again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4906528008475285968?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4906528008475285968/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4906528008475285968' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4906528008475285968'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4906528008475285968'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/10/ill-be-back.html' title='I&apos;ll  be back'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2533533708454500112</id><published>2009-08-31T20:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-31T21:02:43.641-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Food for thought</title><content type='html'>A list of what I'd like to eat right now (in the order it pops into my head):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Beans on toast&lt;br /&gt;Sushi&lt;br /&gt;Pretty much everything on the menu at Super Burrito&lt;br /&gt;A Butterfinger Blizzard&lt;br /&gt;A big, fat hamburger&lt;br /&gt;Teriyaki chicken and rice&lt;br /&gt;Grilled zucchini&lt;br /&gt;Baked zucchini fritters&lt;br /&gt;Corn on the cob&lt;br /&gt;Bratwurst and sauerkraut, plus spicy mustard&lt;br /&gt;Grapes&lt;br /&gt;A grilled cheese sandwich&lt;br /&gt;My dad's barbecued ribs&lt;br /&gt;My dad's meatballs&lt;br /&gt;Spaghetti&lt;br /&gt;Gelato&lt;br /&gt;Brownies a la mode&lt;br /&gt;Chocolate chip cookies&lt;br /&gt;Peanut Butter M&amp;amp;M's&lt;br /&gt;Popcorn&lt;br /&gt;Pizza&lt;br /&gt;Chips and salsa&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... Heck, even a Hot Pocket sounds good to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2533533708454500112?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2533533708454500112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2533533708454500112' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2533533708454500112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2533533708454500112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/08/food-for-thought.html' title='Food for thought'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3016626992481222437</id><published>2009-08-19T22:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-19T22:44:43.700-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Time for a new game plan</title><content type='html'>Is there such thing as being in a happiness slump? In baseball there are hitting slumps, so I think it's a fair assessment that people sometimes go through droughts of happiness in life. With that said, I seem to have been in a slump lately. While it's true I have some decent reasons for it (exhaustion, physical ailments, my grandma being diagnosed with cancer, slow drivers, probably having to use my Vegas money to get a wisdom tooth pulled, etc.), I also have plenty of inspiration for a sunny outlook. A short list includes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*A weekly paycheck&lt;br /&gt;*Craig&lt;br /&gt;*Summer weather&lt;br /&gt;*A new shower curtain&lt;br /&gt;*Starbucks gift cards&lt;br /&gt;*Saturday&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3016626992481222437?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3016626992481222437/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3016626992481222437' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3016626992481222437'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3016626992481222437'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/08/time-for-new-game-plan.html' title='Time for a new game plan'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-829095933228978765</id><published>2009-08-18T22:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-18T22:55:11.694-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Irony is murder</title><content type='html'>It's crazy how I spend most of my life wishing for my top teeth to squeeze together on their own and now, after 26 years, my bottom teeth have decided to move closer. My perfect, straight, good row of teeth. Ruined. The front two don't line up anymore because that stupid wisdom tooth is pushing them into one another. That explains why my head has been killing me these past couple months, why a headache kept me up all night on Saturday, why my facial and neck muscles have been so sore... I guess at least I know it's not a tumor. But seriously? Dammit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-829095933228978765?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/829095933228978765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=829095933228978765' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/829095933228978765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/829095933228978765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/08/irony-is-murder.html' title='Irony is murder'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3200788265281504112</id><published>2009-08-16T18:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T19:36:00.796-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Suck and blow</title><content type='html'>I feel as though I am always doing, doing, doing, mostly with little appreciation or success.  I try, it just doesn't always turn out right. Why is that? What's the point if I constantly fail? This is a drum I have beat over and over, and I still don't have a solution. I walk around always on the verge: of tears, of anger, of sleep. My life is a mess, my brain is messier... I can't seem to find a moment to stop and think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realized I thrive on structure and routine, and ever since being laid off I have lived in a world dominated by chaos. I need somebody to tell me exactly what the following day will bring -- Or, better yet, I need another job where I can tell myself what to expect the next morning. Will that ever happen? Doubtful. Time to just suck it up...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3200788265281504112?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3200788265281504112/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3200788265281504112' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3200788265281504112'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3200788265281504112'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/08/suck-and-blow.html' title='Suck and blow'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7989142181679643142</id><published>2009-08-12T09:27:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-12T09:49:48.226-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Monkey on my back</title><content type='html'>I haven't written anything in this blog for a while -- Or at least I haven't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;published&lt;/span&gt; anything in here for a while. It seems like every time I try to put my words down I get distracted, bored, tired, or otherwise too busy to finish. The half-dozen drafts saved onto Blogger are a good reminder of my failures, and they taunt me whenever I bring myself to log in. It is perfectionism at its finest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could just click Publish Post without agonizing over each sentence; then again, if I didn't scrutinize everything, my rantings would likely resemble all the other shoddy writers out there who think having a blog makes them intelligent and scholarly. I guess by default I am choosing quality over quantity (that's what I tell myself anyway). I think it's about time I work on getting the saved ramblings published so that logging into my account isn't such a chore. Right? Right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Note: This post was one big pep talk to myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7989142181679643142?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7989142181679643142/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7989142181679643142' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7989142181679643142'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7989142181679643142'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/08/monkey-on-my-back.html' title='Monkey on my back'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-1245096586289025167</id><published>2009-07-09T22:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-09T22:22:23.128-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A tall order</title><content type='html'>One of the articles in the August Cosmo is titled, "Have the Summer You Want!" Oh really? I want a summer that never ends. I want a summer filled with tropical beaches, sparkling getaways, exciting camping trips, and barbecues galore. The summer I want involves me eating glorious foods without ever gaining an ounce. I certainly won't have to worry about money or a job, even though shopping will be a regular occurrence. Weekly pedicures. Daily massages. Drinking without hangovers. Oh, and that list of books I've been meaning to read? Finished, all of them. Think you can do that, Cosmo?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-1245096586289025167?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/1245096586289025167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=1245096586289025167' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/1245096586289025167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/1245096586289025167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/07/tall-order.html' title='A tall order'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3083980414366204622</id><published>2009-07-03T10:11:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-03T18:34:31.371-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's always something</title><content type='html'>Too busy, not busy enough. Too hot, too cold. Too hungry, too full. Too tired, too awake. Too loud, too quiet. It's always one or the other, isn't it? Complain, complain, complain, complain. Is anybody ever happy with his or her present situation? I honestly don't think so. It seems like we pretend to be fine with life, but in actuality we are just doing our best to push through to the next moment that makes us forget our discontent. Maybe I'm jaded, maybe I'm just being truthful here. Who really knows anymore?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3083980414366204622?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3083980414366204622/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3083980414366204622' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3083980414366204622'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3083980414366204622'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/07/its-always-something.html' title='It&apos;s always something'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-207452681097838181</id><published>2009-06-30T18:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T22:47:48.253-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Still the questions remain</title><content type='html'>"So, what do you do?" It may seem like an easy enough question, but this innocent inquiry really trips me up these days. What &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;do&lt;/span&gt; I do? Am I a writer? A paralegal? A LEGO employee? What wording best describes my way of making a living? A lot of people asked me that magic question this weekend, and as pretentious as it sounds, I always said Writer first (and yes, with a capital W). Writer... Because that is what I went to school for, it is what I used to be, and it is what (in theory) I still want to be. I haven't had an article published in months, yet I still cling to that time when my life was filled with words. Pathetic much?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An upcoming assignment has prevented the Writer label from being a complete fraud, thankfully, though I still feel like I'm putting on a front.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-207452681097838181?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/207452681097838181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=207452681097838181' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/207452681097838181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/207452681097838181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/06/still-questions-remain.html' title='Still the questions remain'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7740098879372962676</id><published>2009-06-09T08:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-09T20:29:54.873-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A sticky situation</title><content type='html'>I spilled oatmeal on my laptop yesterday. Oatmeal... In the keys, on the touch pad, on my desk, on the clothes I was planning to wear to work. It upset me until I remembered some other epic spills I'd had in the past that were much worse than this. There was the time I spilled gallons of German chocolate cake frosting in the back of my car, never fully finding a way to get all of the coconut out of the carpet. There was one time while babysitting that I splashed liquid Jello all over the kitchen floor just minutes before the parents were due to arrive home. And how about that night in college when my roommate and I made margaritas and accidentally unscrewed the bottom of the blender while it was still incredibly full? At least oatmeal doesn't stain. It's probably not good for a computer though, right?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7740098879372962676?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7740098879372962676/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7740098879372962676' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7740098879372962676'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7740098879372962676'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/06/sticky-situation.html' title='A sticky situation'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-861481952558537894</id><published>2009-06-02T22:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T11:07:04.669-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Indecent proposal?</title><content type='html'>One of my friends got engaged last week. How do I feel about this? Ridiculously happy for her, and, well, kind of old. I've obviously known other people who got engaged and/or married, but this is different because Kim and I grew up together. We were practically joined at the hip during the awkward teen years, partaking in all the time-wasting activities common to our generation (or at least the more innocent ones). We learned how to drive together, our families pretty much considered us their adopted children, we crossed state lines and back multiple times... We even lived together for a while after college. We were inseparable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Kim turned 26 last Friday, I'll be 26 next Friday. Are we finally at the age where marriage and babies and careers and life begin? Two of my friends who started dating in college are heading down the aisle in July, and that seems weird enough, but this is someone I have known for more than half of my life. So, who's next?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Note: If you think this is an attempt to get a proposal of my own, you're wrong.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-861481952558537894?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/861481952558537894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=861481952558537894' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/861481952558537894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/861481952558537894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/06/indecent-proposal.html' title='Indecent proposal?'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7367427016466399683</id><published>2009-05-28T22:49:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-28T22:50:36.298-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Zzzzzzzz</title><content type='html'>Right now I am too tired to think, too tired to write, too tired to try my new yoga DVD, too tired to go see Star Trek. Just. Too. Tired.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7367427016466399683?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7367427016466399683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7367427016466399683' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7367427016466399683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7367427016466399683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/05/zzzzzzzz.html' title='Zzzzzzzz'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4647414882585954727</id><published>2009-05-16T23:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-16T23:37:45.638-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Trix are for kids</title><content type='html'>The best thing a little kid has said to me at The LEGO Store: "I'm too young to have blisters like this." He then explained how he'd gotten them from climbing on the monkey bars at school. Priceless.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4647414882585954727?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4647414882585954727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4647414882585954727' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4647414882585954727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4647414882585954727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/05/trix-are-for-kids.html' title='Trix are for kids'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2007131386823615851</id><published>2009-05-15T08:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T09:35:52.956-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Feeling this</title><content type='html'>May 7, 2005: Sitting through the long ceremony, packing up the last of my apartment, cleaning, savoring Pullman with my family and friends. It was a bittersweet day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't believe it's been more than four years since I graduated from college... It feels like a long time, but not &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; long. As I turned in my graduation cap and gown at the bookstore, I remembered thinking, "So this is what adulthood feels like." Cheesy as it sounds, I really felt different that day. Scared but different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two years before that I graduated from &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;CCC&lt;/span&gt;. Six years ago. Six. Wow. I didn't participate in the ceremony, didn't really make a big deal out of it, but I can see now that earning my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;associate's&lt;/span&gt; was an important part of my education. Community college taught me a lot about life and how to deal with adversity, which came in handy when I set out on my own at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;WSU&lt;/span&gt;. I believe college is a lot more about learning how to jump through hoops than it is about learning the material in textbooks, and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;CCC&lt;/span&gt; was a good training ground for that kind of thing. That last-minute scramble to earn the math credits needed to finish also showed a resilience I had never really tapped into. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eight years ago I finished up high school and prepared for the unknown. My job as sports editor at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;CCC&lt;/span&gt; was secured before I completed high school,  yet I still questioned whether I was doing the right thing. "Should I instead be going to Washington State as a freshman? How about U of O?" Already I felt overwhelmed at the responsibility before me -- Full-time classes and putting the paper together seemed incredibly hard at the time; in truth, it was difficult but not impossible. I got out of there when I was supposed to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;College is behind me, marriage and family are (maybe) ahead of me, and eight years from  now I'll probably look back on this post and laugh at how naive I was. There really isn't a point to these ramblings, just a chance for me to understand why I feel so old. The reason: I &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;am&lt;/span&gt; old. And from here on out, I'll always be old. I guess I'd better get used to it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2007131386823615851?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2007131386823615851/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2007131386823615851' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2007131386823615851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2007131386823615851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/05/feeling-this.html' title='Feeling this'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-1529170654905761876</id><published>2009-04-27T11:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T11:37:38.993-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad timing</title><content type='html'>I hate how the weather takes a turn for the better and I suddenly become busy. Like, busier than God. Where was all of this work during the dreary winter months? I'm not complaining about jobs that actually pay the bills, I just find it really ironic. Agreed?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-1529170654905761876?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/1529170654905761876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=1529170654905761876' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/1529170654905761876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/1529170654905761876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/04/bad-timing.html' title='Bad timing'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8816180763665724692</id><published>2009-04-23T21:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T22:22:50.679-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's a girl thing</title><content type='html'>Today one of my coworkers and I were discussing why LEGO doesn't make more products aimed at young girls, and we jokingly decided the company is sexist and actually doesn't care about coming up with designs for females. We mentioned the idea to one of our supervisors, who quickly responded that LEGOs are just naturally more popular among boys (though he admitted this seems to be changing a bit), and therefore the company is just following smart business practices by creating products geared for its targeted demographic. Okay, but what about if the reason more boys like LEGOs is because they are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;supposed&lt;/span&gt; to like them? What would happen if the same number of sets were made for girls as there are for boys? Even the neutral kits rarely contain ponytail wigs or female faces, making it seem like only men are supposed to be police officers, dump truck drivers, or farmers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not really a feminist (I still believe there are some things men are better at than women), but I do think it's unfair to all the girls out there who otherwise would be diving into such cool toys as LEGOs. It's also a shame for the company to be missing out on such a big chunk of customers. I can't tell you how many people have come in looking for more "girly sets" besides the Belleville products (they are like a larger Barbie doll and not really LEGOs at all... Ick), and all I can really point them at is a tiny set of generic bricks with pink ones mixed in. It seems like such a stereotype to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This also goes along with the trend for young boys to be pushed toward math and science and young girls being pointed in the direction of art and reading -- Suddenly we don't know if either gender actually is better at those things, since they were never given the chance to step outside of the boxes society placed them in. If more girls were encouraged to be math nerds we might actually have more female engineers out there, which would then inspire even more females, and then what? The possibilities are endless.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8816180763665724692?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8816180763665724692/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8816180763665724692' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8816180763665724692'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8816180763665724692'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/04/its-girl-thing.html' title='It&apos;s a girl thing'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4236723418823197029</id><published>2009-04-20T11:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T17:03:08.830-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Start the commotion</title><content type='html'>I see the panic in people's eyes about the scary job situation, and all I can think is how I went through that last year. I got laid off before it was the "cool" thing to do. I must have started a trend or something!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All joking aside, I really did learn about the nightmare of losing your job long before it was a regular feature on the nightly news. Here's a recap: It's bad, it's scary, it's embarrassing. I'm sure people can imagine the first two emotions, but the humiliation is something I never really considered until it slapped me full in the face. If you think about it, you &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lost&lt;/span&gt; your job. Nobody likes to lose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The question now is how I  made it through such a difficult time. The answer? I don't completely know. I'm still incredibly sensitive about being laid off -- and the journalism situation in general -- so who knows if I will ever truly get over it. After looking back though, I am able to offer advice for folks finding themselves in a similar predicament. This includes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;1. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Don't get down on yourself.&lt;/span&gt; It's easy to do (trust me, I did it a lot) but it doesn't do much good. Actually, it doesn't any good at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;2. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Let your friends and family be there for you.&lt;/span&gt; They'll be your biggest source of comfort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;It's okay to have fun sometimes.&lt;/span&gt; For a long time I felt like I didn't deserve to enjoy myself -- I lost my job, so I'm a loser who is supposed to be miserable, right? Stupid, stupid, stupid. I finally decided to stop being a stick in the mud and am slowly regressing back to someone who knows how to have a good time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;4.&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Take what you can get.&lt;/span&gt; Don't be picky about what your next venture is. It might not be a great job, but it's a job. Take it, keep looking for something better, and all the while be thankful you have something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;5. Don't be afraid to talk about it.&lt;/span&gt; Sometimes you just need to let it out so you can get over it. I'm still working on this one...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4236723418823197029?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4236723418823197029/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4236723418823197029' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4236723418823197029'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4236723418823197029'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/04/start-commotion.html' title='Start the commotion'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-6008077948977396188</id><published>2009-04-19T10:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-19T14:48:06.575-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The ugly truth</title><content type='html'>Sometimes I need someone to agree with me. However wrong, stupid, ridiculous my opinion may be, all I want is a willing ear to listen to my rant and say, "You're right." Is it really that hard to offer that kind of support? Even if you think I am a little off-base, please just humor me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a related note, have you ever been in a situation where you get upset and start crying, and then you get embarrassed for crying, which only makes you cry more, and once you finally get your ugly tears under control someone brings the issue up/apologizes... Which makes you cry and starts the cycle all over again?! Unfortunately this is something I am familiar with; equally unfortunate is the fact that I do not know how to prevent it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-6008077948977396188?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/6008077948977396188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=6008077948977396188' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6008077948977396188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6008077948977396188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/04/ugly-truth.html' title='The ugly truth'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8339687837766323207</id><published>2009-04-18T00:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-18T01:22:08.419-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tell me why</title><content type='html'>I've never understood why cow equals beef, pig equals pork, but fish equals fish. Oh, and chicken equals chicken. Why do we change the name of some kinds of flesh-based products and not others?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what about the fact that orange is both a color &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and&lt;/span&gt; a fruit -- And the color of the fruit?! Strawberries are red, but red is not a fruit and strawberry is not a color (except as part of a more precise shade, such as strawberry blonde). Grapes are purple, green, red, white... I doubt anyone has ever said their favorite color was grape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At first I thought maybe oranges were so special because they were the only fruit of that color, but tangerines, kumquats, grapefruit, and cantaloupe all belong to that color scheme. So do carrots. It seems like a produce family only uses a color as part of a name when it has run out of creativity (I'm looking at you, Mr. and Mrs. Bell Pepper), so oranges certainly have no excuse.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8339687837766323207?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8339687837766323207/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8339687837766323207' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8339687837766323207'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8339687837766323207'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/04/tell-me-why.html' title='Tell me why'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5985253621663342593</id><published>2009-04-13T21:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T22:00:36.110-07:00</updated><title type='text'>One is enough</title><content type='html'>Just when it felt like everyone in the world was against me, I found evidence to the contrary. One... It may sound small to you but for me it's enough. I can keep on keeping on because someone believes in me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Elena is Carrie Bradshaw, even if she thinks it's just her wish that she is. Even if she's writing about toothpaste, you want to keep reading and you want more when it's over with."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5985253621663342593?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5985253621663342593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5985253621663342593' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5985253621663342593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5985253621663342593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/04/one-is-enough.html' title='One is enough'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-6442096524830788450</id><published>2009-04-10T00:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T00:13:47.223-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Free at last</title><content type='html'>Why do people flock to free stuff like flies on horse poop? If it's free, they want it and they want it &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;right now&lt;/span&gt;. I agree this sounds like the pot calling the kettle black (I do enjoy my freebies), but mostly my complaint lies in the general attitude being expressed. You aren't paying for it, so why can't you wait two seconds for me to find what you are looking for? Just. Simmer. Down.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-6442096524830788450?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/6442096524830788450/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=6442096524830788450' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6442096524830788450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6442096524830788450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/04/free-at-last.html' title='Free at last'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4635817414153498678</id><published>2009-04-06T13:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-14T20:24:18.559-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Money, money, money</title><content type='html'>When state funds take a nosedive, do police officers make an effort to write out more tickets? Is there an "official unofficial" order for cops to generate more money through citations, thereby easing the agency's budget shortfalls? It makes sense to me. It basically seems like a good way to punch up a lagging bottomline while still doing what is technically part of the job description. Think of it this way:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saving a person's life = $0&lt;br /&gt;Catching a speeder = $200+&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've noticed a lot of officers posted up along highways with radar guns these past couple months, though it is hard for me to judge if this is any more than usual for this time of year. There must be facts and figures on this somewhere, right? If this theory turns out to be true, it also follows that the public is in more danger during a recession than we are during times of wealth.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4635817414153498678?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4635817414153498678/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4635817414153498678' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4635817414153498678'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4635817414153498678'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/04/money-money-money.html' title='Money, money, money'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-70019828845444081</id><published>2009-04-03T20:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T23:21:50.278-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sticks and stones</title><content type='html'>Why am I sick of journalism? Why do I often wake up feeling hopeless about the future of newspapers and the media in general? This e-mail sent to my editor regarding a recently published special section sums it up perfectly:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Dear Mr. Kelly  -- &lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-style: italic;"&gt;In our 35 years as subscribers of The Valley Times, this is a first comment  to your Community  Newspaper organization regarding your publication.   Our family first subscribed to The Valley Times years ago to keep up on  "real" local news and that associated with the schools.  I know, I know --  things have changed. . . .&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-style: italic;"&gt;My husband and I returned from spring vacation yesterday and, as we  generally do, -- we attempted to read the newspapers and mailings we'd received  during our absence.  My husband said, "Let me know what you think about the  insert in the Valley Times." He was referring, of course, to the "Best Ever"  collection.  I looked it over (thinking that he'd perhaps found it  interesting) then thought, "Without question, this piece is the biggest waste of  paper and resources we've ever received in the Valley Times."  It even had  a slick cover -- covering a bunch of "junk."  I told my husband so;   he said, "I thought so, too.  We'll cancel at the end of this  subscription."  &lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt; &lt;div style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I don't know what your staff was thinking in selecting those representing  "Best Ever."  Likely, many (most?) were self-nominating (or closely  connected for the purposes of self-advertising.)  You stated in the preface  that the results were not a scientific study -- and yes, certainly not a decent  &lt;span class="yshortcuts" id="lw_1238817508_3"&gt;random sampling&lt;/span&gt;.  They were, however, dismal suggestions and a very poor  representation of what might even be considered "somewhat good" in the  community.   The resulting insert does say something about the number of  your remaining readers:  it's likely very few readers read the solicitation  for suggestions or CARED about the topic.  Too bad.  It's my opinion  that your organization needs some serious help in your creative department.   Save the paper -- next time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:arial;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend of Renee's once referred to me as the "negative" sister. At first I disagreed with her... Nobody wants to be known as the downer of a group. But now I see what she is talking about. You'd be pretty pessimistic too after getting booted from an industry that broadcasts your every mistake, carries airtight deadlines, and constantly encourages the public to voice their (mostly critical) opinions. What do you do when the only feedback about your hard work is a mean e-mail? If you are me then you cry a little on the outside and a lot on the inside. I just don't know how to win.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-70019828845444081?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/70019828845444081/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=70019828845444081' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/70019828845444081'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/70019828845444081'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/04/sticks-and-stones.html' title='Sticks and stones'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8798060579489782106</id><published>2009-04-01T00:02:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-01T00:17:21.354-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A word a day...</title><content type='html'>Words that make me laugh:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crumb&lt;br /&gt;Roll (like a dinner roll, but not the act of rolling)&lt;br /&gt;Munch&lt;br /&gt;Crunch&lt;br /&gt;Waft&lt;br /&gt;Kernel (not colonel though... that one is just &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;weird&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;Ciabatta&lt;br /&gt;Usurp&lt;br /&gt;Erect&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept a rather lengthy list in high school that I've all but forgotten. Does anybody have suggestions?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8798060579489782106?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8798060579489782106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8798060579489782106' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8798060579489782106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8798060579489782106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/04/word-day.html' title='A word a day...'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3278296567972143031</id><published>2009-03-30T14:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T15:19:10.768-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fearless</title><content type='html'>If I were to write a song for Craig, it would sound a lot like this one by Taylor Swift:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's something about the way&lt;br /&gt;The street looks when it's just rained&lt;br /&gt;There's a glow off the pavement&lt;br /&gt;You walk me to your car&lt;br /&gt;And you know I wanna ask you&lt;br /&gt;To dance right there&lt;br /&gt;In the middle of the parking lot&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, oh yeah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're driving down the road&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if you know&lt;br /&gt;I'm trying so hard&lt;br /&gt;Not to get caught up now&lt;br /&gt;But you're just so cool&lt;br /&gt;Run your hand through your hair&lt;br /&gt;Absentmindedly making me want you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I don't know how&lt;br /&gt;It gets better than this&lt;br /&gt;You take my hand&lt;br /&gt;And drag me headfirst&lt;br /&gt;Fearless&lt;br /&gt;And I don't know why&lt;br /&gt;But with you, I'd dance&lt;br /&gt;In a storm in my best dress&lt;br /&gt;Fearless&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, baby, drive slow&lt;br /&gt;Till we run out of road&lt;br /&gt;In this one horse town&lt;br /&gt;I wanna stay right here&lt;br /&gt;In this passenger's seat&lt;br /&gt;You put your eyes on me&lt;br /&gt;In this moment now&lt;br /&gt;Capture it, remember it&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I don't know how&lt;br /&gt;It gets better than this&lt;br /&gt;You take my hand&lt;br /&gt;And drag me headfirst&lt;br /&gt;Fearless&lt;br /&gt;And I don't know why&lt;br /&gt;But with you, I'd dance&lt;br /&gt;In a storm in my best dress&lt;br /&gt;Fearless&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, you stood there&lt;br /&gt;With me in the doorway&lt;br /&gt;My hands shake&lt;br /&gt;I'm not usually this way, but&lt;br /&gt;You pull me in&lt;br /&gt;And I'm a little more brave&lt;br /&gt;It's a first kiss, it's flawless&lt;br /&gt;Really something&lt;br /&gt;It's fearless&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;'Cause I don't know how&lt;br /&gt;It gets better than this&lt;br /&gt;You take my hand&lt;br /&gt;And drag me headfirst&lt;br /&gt;Fearless&lt;br /&gt;And I don't know why&lt;br /&gt;But with you, I'd dance&lt;br /&gt;In a storm in my best dress&lt;br /&gt;Fearless&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3278296567972143031?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3278296567972143031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3278296567972143031' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3278296567972143031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3278296567972143031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/fearless.html' title='Fearless'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8994880749967804671</id><published>2009-03-24T15:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T21:26:35.200-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I lost my marbles</title><content type='html'>Change scares me most of the time. I'm not talking about trivial changes here, but the big ones: New job, new boyfriend, new living situation, new president, new monthly payment, new daily routine. It's like all those hoops I was used to jumping through just got swapped out for a different set that may or may not be comparable. What if it's all wrong? What if I fail? I never seem able to think positively in these instances, which makes me even more nervous, which makes me mess up, which shakes the little confidence I actually did have, which makes me want to curl up in a ball and cry for my mom.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not easy being an uptight perfectionist with multiple neuroses.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8994880749967804671?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8994880749967804671/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8994880749967804671' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8994880749967804671'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8994880749967804671'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-lost-my-marbles.html' title='I lost my marbles'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3877773428693925326</id><published>2009-03-24T01:09:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T15:51:34.442-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I walk the line</title><content type='html'>You know those times when you just &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;have&lt;/span&gt; to write? It's like the idea is there, the juices are flowing, and the words start morphing into a perfect creation that leaves your fingers struggling to keep up. I've learned it's foolish to ignore something this strong, especially since there are days when absolutely nothing of value can be squeezed out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really need today to be the first of these options.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3877773428693925326?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3877773428693925326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3877773428693925326' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3877773428693925326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3877773428693925326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-walk-line.html' title='I walk the line'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8992576212092388335</id><published>2009-03-23T08:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T01:07:38.359-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Moving on up</title><content type='html'>I rearranged my bedroom the other day, and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ahhhh&lt;/span&gt;, it feels so much better. I'm not into feng shui or anything, but I do believe finding the "right" furniture setup makes a room aesthetically more appealing. It's also fun to mix things up from time to time. Have you ever walked into someone's home and just been instantly bored because it has looked the exact same for years? My parents' house was like that when we were younger, probably due to the fact that it was too small for more than a couple furniture placement options. I always felt kind of trapped over there... Maybe that's why I'm constantly pushing things around, moving that here, putting that there. It's like an itch I have to scratch. My friend Janette also moves furniture a lot, always with bigger and better results, so perhaps I'm taking a cue from her. I only wish I could paint the apartment walls...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8992576212092388335?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8992576212092388335/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8992576212092388335' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8992576212092388335'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8992576212092388335'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/moving-on-up.html' title='Moving on up'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-9124386975714312296</id><published>2009-03-14T18:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-14T18:53:06.963-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Do not want</title><content type='html'>I was eating some baby carrots today and came across this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/Sbxegud4duI/AAAAAAAAAHA/nDcczVmLn3c/s1600-h/1+090.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/Sbxegud4duI/AAAAAAAAAHA/nDcczVmLn3c/s400/1+090.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5313225576712533730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is that a thumb? A child-sized penis? Needless to say, I did not eat it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-9124386975714312296?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/9124386975714312296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=9124386975714312296' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/9124386975714312296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/9124386975714312296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/do-not-want.html' title='Do not want'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/Sbxegud4duI/AAAAAAAAAHA/nDcczVmLn3c/s72-c/1+090.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4854428578510895154</id><published>2009-03-13T10:21:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T10:48:03.192-07:00</updated><title type='text'>R.I.P.</title><content type='html'>I hate how some people are pointing at how terrible newspapers are these days and citing that as a reason for their demise. Nooooo... They're bad because most staffs consist of four people doing the work of 10. That's like going to McDonald's and expecting a gourmet meal. Not. Gonna. Happen. It's not easy to write a quality story, take professional photographs, and then rush to a (slow, ancient) computer to put it on the page before deadline. Most journalists do the best with what they are given, which oftentimes is not much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think people don't read newspapers because most of them just don't like to read, at least not when they can turn on the TV news and have information spoon-fed to them. Books are one thing to pick up from time to time, but to invest in pages full of facts each day? That's too much to ask of this lazy society. Internet news stories are written more in the "wham-bam-thank you ma'am" style that is indicative of the way everything is heading... It's all about instant gratification and then moving on to the next thing ("Pictures of Paris Hilton partying! OMG!").&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What a sad, sad world.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4854428578510895154?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4854428578510895154/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4854428578510895154' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4854428578510895154'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4854428578510895154'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/rip.html' title='R.I.P.'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3111626732329761535</id><published>2009-03-12T10:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-12T10:30:58.479-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Locked out</title><content type='html'>"When God closes a door, somewhere He opens a window."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever tried to crawl through a window? It's not an easy task, and it certainly is nowhere near as simple as stepping in and out of a doorway... Too bad I don't have much choice these days but to shimmy my way through a window, what with the big door closing in my face last year and all these little ones slamming shut left and right. I guess all I can do now is suck it in and hope I fit.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3111626732329761535?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3111626732329761535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3111626732329761535' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3111626732329761535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3111626732329761535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/locked-out.html' title='Locked out'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5849538918384985577</id><published>2009-03-10T23:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-10T23:53:16.770-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In a nutshell...</title><content type='html'>*Even though I do kind of enjoy the song "Heartless," I can't get over how arrogant Kanye West is. The man thinks he lives and breathes genius, and while he is somewhat talented, he's not God. It doesn't help that the music video is &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;STUPID.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*&lt;/span&gt;Sometimes I want to hit myself, but more often I feel like hitting other people. Does that make me violent or normal?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I have been craving Peanut Butter M&amp;amp;M's for several weeks now; I might have even had a dream about them. That's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;definitely&lt;/span&gt; not normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I really miss hearing the "Cheers" theme song while the bar in Pullman was closing down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*My morning routine is pretty regimented: Wake up, feed the cat, make coffee, gargle mouthwash, drink coffee while checking e-mail, go for a run, brush teeth while oatmeal cooks, eat oatmeal in front of computer, work, shower, dress, work more...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I love the smell, taste and all-around versatility of cinnamon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Newspapers are folding left and right, and it scares me deeply. It also makes me very sad. What kind of a world can exist without print journalism? Where does that leave me??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I really want to play pool and shoot hoops, in that order.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;style&gt;initions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal  {mso-style-parent:"";  margin:0in;  margin-bottom:.0001pt;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  font-size:12.0pt;  font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1  {size:8.5in 11.0in;  margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in;  mso-header-margin:.5in;  mso-footer-margin:.5in;  mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1  {page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable  {mso-style-name:"Table Normal";  mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;  mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;  mso-style-noshow:yes;  mso-style-parent:"";  mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;  mso-para-margin:0in;  mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt;  mso-pagination:widow-orphan;  font-size:10.0pt;  font-family:"Times New Roman";  mso-ansi-language:#0400;  mso-fareast-language:#0400;  mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5849538918384985577?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5849538918384985577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5849538918384985577' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5849538918384985577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5849538918384985577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/in-nutshell.html' title='In a nutshell...'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5883643358546388600</id><published>2009-03-09T11:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T23:34:48.465-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I feel like I'm taking crazy pills</title><content type='html'>So we spring forward into ... snow? No, no, that can't be right. I thought we lost an hour of sleep this time of year in preparation for the warm weather ahead, but instead we're being bombarded by even more cold and ice. Huh? I'm confused.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5883643358546388600?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5883643358546388600/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5883643358546388600' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5883643358546388600'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5883643358546388600'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-feel-like-im-taking-crazy-pills.html' title='I feel like I&apos;m taking crazy pills'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5292981068962815213</id><published>2009-03-06T00:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-06T00:51:27.116-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The wait is over</title><content type='html'>A little while ago, Renee and I were talking about how weird it is that none of us have ever seen a healthy version of top ramen noodles. There are low-fat and fat-free alternatives for almost everything else out there, so why wouldn't companies want to make something like that? The two of us agreed that even if we had to pay a little more than 15 cents per package to have something that is not absolutely horrible for you, it would be worth it. I guess someone was listening, because today I stumbled upon something called Choice Ramen, made by Nissin (the inferior ramen brand). I'm not sure what it tastes like yet, but it sounds promising: 95% fat free and 25% less sodium than the regular top ramen product. Plus, it's only 3/$1 at Fred Meyer. Am I a dork for being this excited about a convenient, inexpensive, somewhat healthy meal option? In case you are curious, here is a comparison of the two kinds:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Maruchan Beef Ramen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;190 calories&lt;br /&gt;70 calories from fat&lt;br /&gt;7 grams of fat&lt;br /&gt;3.5 grams of saturated fat&lt;br /&gt;790 miligrams of sodium&lt;br /&gt;26 grams of carbohydrates&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Nissin Choice Ramen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;140 calories&lt;br /&gt;0 calories from fat&lt;br /&gt;0 grams of fat&lt;br /&gt;0 grams of saturated fat&lt;br /&gt;370 miligrams of sodium&lt;br /&gt;30 grams of carbohydrates&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's also good to note that each package contains two servings, so eating an entire block of the regular noodles counts for 2/3 of a person's sodium intake for the day. It also equals a lot of fat. I'm very excited to find out if this stuff tastes like poo or if it is actually edible. I'll keep you posted...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5292981068962815213?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5292981068962815213/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5292981068962815213' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5292981068962815213'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5292981068962815213'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/wait-is-over.html' title='The wait is over'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-185406911481825581</id><published>2009-03-05T12:49:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-05T13:13:04.576-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Being lazy is hard work</title><content type='html'>I am one of those people who finds it hard to truly relax. Even when I'm sitting down or resting, my mind is constantly ticking off what I should be doing instead. For example, during a movie, I'll be calculating what I need to do when it's over to make up for the time I spent in front of the screen. When I sleep in, I'm always in a rush to catch up on the e-mails that have to be sent before noon in order to get the responses I need by day's end. On weekends I frantically plan what the coming week should look like, complete with deadlines and "now or never" launching points. It's tedious and exhausting, but I honestly don't think I'll ever be any different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is why today has been fabulous. I made a concerted effort to get things in order enough so I could set aside one solid day to do absolutely nothing, and March 5 is that day. I cheated a little and sent an e-mail this morning, but otherwise I have not done any writing or, most importantly, worried about not doing any writing (besides obviously this blog). I won't think about my taxes, I won't think about doing laundry, I won't think about cleaning the bathroom, I won't think about paying bills... I am leaving it all for tomorrow, for the weekend, for &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;later&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now I'm going to sit my butt on the couch -- I never sit on the couch -- and watch a movie or two, finish reading my book, and just veg out. AND I WILL NOT FEEL GUILTY ABOUT IT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wish me luck... I might need it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-185406911481825581?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/185406911481825581/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=185406911481825581' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/185406911481825581'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/185406911481825581'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/03/being-lazy-is-hard-work.html' title='Being lazy is hard work'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8329247588582816040</id><published>2009-02-26T13:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T00:27:54.040-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Can I have a hint?</title><content type='html'>Things I don't understand (and most likely never will):&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cars&lt;br /&gt;Computers&lt;br /&gt;Insurance policies&lt;br /&gt;My family&lt;br /&gt;The stock market&lt;br /&gt;Taxes&lt;br /&gt;People with really thick accents&lt;br /&gt;Shakespeare&lt;br /&gt;Conspiracy theorists&lt;br /&gt;Luke&lt;br /&gt;Why people think Bill Clinton is sexy&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8329247588582816040?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8329247588582816040/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8329247588582816040' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8329247588582816040'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8329247588582816040'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/02/can-i-have-hint.html' title='Can I have a hint?'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-6887850708633470387</id><published>2009-02-25T08:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T11:21:50.235-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The time is near</title><content type='html'>Rain, rain, go away&lt;br /&gt;Come again some other day&lt;br /&gt;Little Lainey wants to play&lt;br /&gt;Rain, rain, go away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know about anybody else out there, but I am ready for summer. Rain, snow, fog, clouds, be gone!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-6887850708633470387?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/6887850708633470387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=6887850708633470387' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6887850708633470387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6887850708633470387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/02/time-is-near.html' title='The time is near'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-6251066437005323634</id><published>2009-02-23T15:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-23T15:50:39.156-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The case of the ex</title><content type='html'>It drives me crazy to associate with people who spend so much time lying that you start to question everything they say. What's the point? I can't separate fact or fiction, so even the most obvious things must be analyzed and re-analyzed to sort out the untruths. This just makes me angry. And tired. And angry again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately there are times when it is unavoidable, such as right now. Have I mentioned how angry and tired I am? All I want to do is send a message that reads: "Karma's a bitch! You deserve every horrible thing you claimed has happened to you times 100, and even that would not be enough for what you put me through. Stop your pathetic good-for-nothingness and grow up." One of these days I'll be able to say those things, but until then I will have to endure the barrage of lies constantly aimed in my direction. Suck.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-6251066437005323634?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/6251066437005323634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=6251066437005323634' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6251066437005323634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6251066437005323634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/02/case-of-ex.html' title='The case of the ex'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-6708194717577722033</id><published>2009-02-14T19:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-14T20:32:21.532-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Craig &gt; new socks</title><content type='html'>I've always believed slipping into a pair of new socks is comparable to giving your feet a hug -- And not just a pat on the back "nice to see you" hug, but more of an embrace reserved for lovers reunited after months of loneliness. Putting on virgin socks is like that first blast of cold from an air conditioner or a plate of spicy Mexican food with a fresh fruit margarita, soft kisses on the forehead or a summer roadtrip. In a word: perfect.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-6708194717577722033?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/6708194717577722033/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=6708194717577722033' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6708194717577722033'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6708194717577722033'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/02/craig-new-socks.html' title='Craig &gt; new socks'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5939146195605808654</id><published>2009-02-09T16:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T00:16:57.650-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Priorities</title><content type='html'>Can anyone explain why a person living in an apartment would rent garage space in which to keep a giant freezer and pantry full of food? To me that signifies the need for a house, or at the very least a larger living space. And how about the guy a couple buildings over who drives around a sparkly red Corvette? None of the apartments in the complex could be considered huge, they're not exactly in the best part of town, the management is mediocre -- There's really nothing special about them. If you can afford a ride like that then it seems like you should be able to splurge for a more upscale place to rent from, or, I don't know, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;buy a house&lt;/span&gt;. It just doesn't make sense. I'd trade my car any day for a home of my own. Ah, someday...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5939146195605808654?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5939146195605808654/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5939146195605808654' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5939146195605808654'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5939146195605808654'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/02/priorities.html' title='Priorities'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-1842767695129386295</id><published>2009-02-06T17:00:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T17:12:10.394-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A pat on the back</title><content type='html'>I love the feeling of accomplishment. Marking things off a To Do list and then collapsing in exhaustion signifies a day well spent, one that I can be proud of and look back on with favor. Even doing little things that I'd been neglecting (cleaning the bathroom, vacuuming, sending an e-mail, blogging) is enough to put me in a jolly mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was a good day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-1842767695129386295?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/1842767695129386295/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=1842767695129386295' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/1842767695129386295'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/1842767695129386295'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/02/pat-yourself-on-back.html' title='A pat on the back'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7668264595771471679</id><published>2009-02-02T13:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-02T14:03:33.150-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Coming attractions</title><content type='html'>I'm very tired today. I have tons and tons of thoughts about things, but right now I haven't the energy it takes to put them out here. Soon I hope to write, and write a lot, possibly about the following topics: church meetings, new socks as they relate to being in love, hamburgers, taxes, ideas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7668264595771471679?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7668264595771471679/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7668264595771471679' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7668264595771471679'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7668264595771471679'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/02/coming-attractions.html' title='Coming attractions'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-135694081661879110</id><published>2009-01-29T03:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T00:40:31.605-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back in the habit</title><content type='html'>What happened to there being loads upon loads of things to do online at 3 a.m.? I finally gave in to my sinus headache and decided I should at least capitalize on this inability to sleep (a.k.a. navigate the gossip sites on the internet, check up on old friends, find new music), and for what? It seems I haven't missed out on a whole lot by being too busy with writing lately. Or, perhaps I am just turning a new leaf of maturity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ha! I crack myself up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-135694081661879110?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/135694081661879110/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=135694081661879110' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/135694081661879110'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/135694081661879110'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/back-in-habit.html' title='Back in the habit'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-6137355410871258108</id><published>2009-01-28T20:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-31T00:42:00.985-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The sun will come out... tomorrow?</title><content type='html'>Nobody likes a whiner, so I'm not going to complain about everything that went wrong today. Instead I think I'll list off the things that went right:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My cold got a little better.&lt;br /&gt;I finally got to eat the grapefruit I've been craving all week.&lt;br /&gt;It didn't snow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's pretty much it. As you can see, the day sucked.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-6137355410871258108?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/6137355410871258108/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=6137355410871258108' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6137355410871258108'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6137355410871258108'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/sun-will-come-out-tomorrow.html' title='The sun will come out... tomorrow?'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5666240799953542771</id><published>2009-01-26T18:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-27T12:18:56.674-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What's in a name?</title><content type='html'>Is Redland a weird name? How about West Linn? I went to Heppner this weekend to celebrate Craig's dad's retirement, and on the drive over I started thinking about how strange all the names of the towns/cities in Eastern Oregon are. I'm sure familiarity is a lot of the reason Milwaukie, Damascus, Molalla, Carver, Clackamas, Sellwood, Tigard seem normal to me, though I still can't help but think the names of cities near Portland are better than the ones in that part of the state.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like Ione (I own what?)...&lt;br /&gt;Rufus is what I would name a dog...&lt;br /&gt;Enterprise is the name of a starship...&lt;br /&gt;Condon sounds eerily similar to condom...&lt;br /&gt;Fossil is an ancient artifact...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even Heppner sounds like the noise I make when I hiccup. I'm not making fun of the people who grew up in any of these places or even live there now, I just find the names to be a touch on the bizarre side. Agree? Disagree?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5666240799953542771?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5666240799953542771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5666240799953542771' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5666240799953542771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5666240799953542771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/whats-in-name.html' title='What&apos;s in a name?'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7910601681842138328</id><published>2009-01-22T12:29:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-22T12:39:36.972-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"If"</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMIKE%7E1.LAN%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Font Definitions */  @font-face 	{font-family:Georgia; 	panose-1:2 4 5 2 5 4 5 2 3 3; 	mso-font-charset:0; 	mso-generic-font-family:roman; 	mso-font-pitch:variable; 	mso-font-signature:647 0 0 0 159 0;}  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0in; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:8.5in 11.0in; 	margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; 	mso-header-margin:.5in; 	mso-footer-margin:.5in; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Sect&lt;/style&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"  &gt;If you can keep your head when all about you&lt;br /&gt;      Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;&lt;br /&gt;If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,&lt;br /&gt;      But make allowance for their doubting too;&lt;br /&gt;If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,&lt;br /&gt;      Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,&lt;br /&gt;Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,&lt;br /&gt;      And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"  &gt;If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;&lt;br /&gt;      If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;&lt;br /&gt;If you can meet with triumph and disaster&lt;br /&gt;      And treat those two impostors just the same;&lt;br /&gt;If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken&lt;br /&gt;      Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,&lt;br /&gt;Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,&lt;br /&gt;      And stoop and build 'em up with worn out tools;&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"  &gt;If you can make one heap of all your winnings&lt;br /&gt;      And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,&lt;br /&gt;And lose, and start again at your beginnings&lt;br /&gt;    And never breathe a word about your loss;&lt;br /&gt;If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew&lt;br /&gt;      To serve your turn long after they are gone,&lt;br /&gt;And so hold on when there is nothing in you&lt;br /&gt;      Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"  &gt;If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,&lt;br /&gt;      Or walk with kings – nor lose the common touch;&lt;br /&gt;If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;&lt;br /&gt;      If all men count with you, but none too much;&lt;br /&gt;If you can fill the unforgiving minute&lt;br /&gt;    With sixty seconds' worth of distance run –&lt;br /&gt; Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,&lt;br /&gt;    And – which is more – you'll be a Man, my son! &lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"  &gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style=";font-family:Georgia;font-size:85%;"  &gt;– Rudyard Kipling&lt;o:p&gt;&lt;/o:p&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7910601681842138328?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7910601681842138328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7910601681842138328' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7910601681842138328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7910601681842138328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/if_22.html' title='&quot;If&quot;'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8786601537842499723</id><published>2009-01-19T14:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T14:28:40.204-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe it does grow on trees</title><content type='html'>The economy is tanking, jobs are being cut left and right, people are flocking to get on welfare... So then why are there always so many people at the mall? How is Best Buy constantly staying busy during this post-Christmas, pre-summer season? I doubt shoppers are just out there trying to do their part to keep capitalism going (AKA spend, spend, spend); some might, though certainly not all of them can have this in mind. It seems like it's more of an attitude of disbelief that is prompting people to continue to spend. Listen to the news on any given day and you'll hear reports of huge stock market losses, but around here it's almost business as usual. I honestly would like to know why. Maybe they think everything will be okay just as soon as Obama takes the helm. Ha, right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8786601537842499723?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8786601537842499723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8786601537842499723' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8786601537842499723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8786601537842499723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/maybe-it-does-grow-on-trees.html' title='Maybe it does grow on trees'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5542959922956727961</id><published>2009-01-17T01:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T02:06:07.893-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Love and labels, baby</title><content type='html'>Sometimes Carrie Bradshaw (AKA Sarah Jessica Parker's character in Sex and the City AKA pure awesomeness) wears the most amazing clothes; other times, not so much. Like the fanny pack she was sporting in the episode I just watched -- I'm pretty sure those things were never considered cool in the history of the world, yet for some reason she is shown pairing one with tight pants, a tank top, and heels. How is that fashion?? And the tutu and see-through leotard thing from the starting is just atrocious. I can remember other huge style misses from throughout the series, ones that would get normal people like you or me laughed at for wearing, but there have also been some really amazing outfit combos. So my question is this: How many bad clothes is one allowed to wear while still being considered stylish?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5542959922956727961?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5542959922956727961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5542959922956727961' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5542959922956727961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5542959922956727961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/love-and-labels-baby.html' title='Love and labels, baby'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-956129660409536300</id><published>2009-01-15T23:59:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-16T00:00:31.111-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I told you so</title><content type='html'>I love to be right about things. A lot of times I'm not, but I really do enjoy it when I am. That's all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-956129660409536300?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/956129660409536300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=956129660409536300' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/956129660409536300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/956129660409536300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-told-you-so.html' title='I told you so'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-8368124041451690906</id><published>2009-01-13T22:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T23:59:08.985-08:00</updated><title type='text'>O-o-kay</title><content type='html'>A funny thing happened earlier this evening, and I'm still trying to understand it. Here's the setup: Renee and I are at the Sweet Factory at Bridgeport Village; she is picking out candy, I am trying to contain my indignation at the prices. She pays for her selections ($13 for a bag of candy?! Oh my...), and as we walk out, a little girl runs up and asks, "Did you buy that candy for your children?" Renee and I stop and just stare at this kid who came out of nowhere with her random question, like "Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh." Finally, after what felt like minutes of silence between us, I force out something like, "Nooooo, we don't have kids." The girl seems to accept this answer, and I somewhat jokingly add, "We just like candy." As we quickly walked away, I heard the father of Miss Nosey say, "What did you just ask those girls?" I'm guessing she wandered away from the playground equipment nearby and he was just as surprised by her inquiry as we were. So now I want to know if she was watching us as we looked at the candy inside the Sweet Factory (and if so, why?), and what exactly prompted her to run up to us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And for the record, a play structure next to the candy shop is just plain mean to all parties involved.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-8368124041451690906?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/8368124041451690906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=8368124041451690906' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8368124041451690906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/8368124041451690906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/o-o-kay.html' title='O-o-kay'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5801467108605658440</id><published>2009-01-12T12:34:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T17:23:45.773-08:00</updated><title type='text'>An ode to Costco</title><content type='html'>I think I know one of the reasons why I love Costco: It brings back so many memories. Growing up in a large family made massive shopping trips a necessity, so the monthly excursions to the big box store became a ritual to look forward to. I could always tell when it was getting close to shopping time, as the cupboards would be empty and the list on the fridge would be a mile long. Sometimes Dad would ride in the car with us, other times he'd meet us there, and as we got older, we would just go by ourselves. I think it was easier going without him -- weekday morning trips were far less stressful than shopping on a busy weekend afternoon. Plus, Mom couldn't get angry at him for wasting money on random stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the samples... ! Free food is always a good idea, even more so when you are a child. I remember how special it felt to score mini servings of pizza bites, cookies, fruit snacks, chips, soda, or even ice cream. When we were especially fortunate, Mom would bring us along around dinner time and let us get Costco dogs on the way out. Sometimes we'd even pick up a huge package of the hot dogs, buns, and sauerkraut to help recreate the experience a few nights at home. Ahhh those were the days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still think Costco is an amazing store with mostly reasonable prices, but I can't help wondering how much of my love affair is due to the attachment I formed at a very young age. Even still, I doubt I will ever find a better place to buy trail mix, hummus, jumbo muffins, toilet paper, cat food, hot dogs, a giant bag of pretzels, or beef jerky.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5801467108605658440?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5801467108605658440/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5801467108605658440' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5801467108605658440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5801467108605658440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/ode-to-costco.html' title='An ode to Costco'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4313715997385586126</id><published>2009-01-12T00:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-12T01:03:13.748-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A fault of my own</title><content type='html'>I'm a coward, an absolute wuss who is afraid of life. I came to this conclusion after spending last night at a party with the people I used to work with. We all gathered to celebrate Jennifer's move to Germany in a couple weeks, and I wished to God I'd had something interesting, positive, exciting to tell these people -- these friends -- I'd done since the big layoff. It's true I've traveled a bit here and there (and much more than I'd done in my life), but none of it could compare to the cool places these people had gone to in addition to keeping exciting journalistic careers. It gets worse: Since last March, one of my former colleagues has gotten married, another had a gorgeous baby girl, another is a soon-to-be mother... and I'm just me. I fail in all accounts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I asked myself why, in the span of time since my editor position was eliminated, have I not found a steady source of work. Do you know what my answer was? Fear. I am terrified of the job hunt, of interviewing, of working, of putting myself out there for the world to judge. What if I can't find anything? What if not one manager deems me worthy of a regular position? Or worse, what if I land a job doing the simplest of tasks that somehow turn out to be too difficult for me to get the hang of? I cannot bear to watch another job slip away. I thought by not settling on anything I was keeping my options open, when in reality, my not deciding was a way of choosing. I chose to be a loser. I chose to be a disappointment. I chose to hide the tears as my younger siblings make jokes at my expense in front of me and, most likely, behind my back. Being laid off is like a wound that can heal with the help of medicine, except I have let mine fester and rot to the point of needing amputation. And it's all my fault.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4313715997385586126?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4313715997385586126/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4313715997385586126' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4313715997385586126'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4313715997385586126'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/fault-of-my-own.html' title='A fault of my own'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7261479408954252380</id><published>2009-01-11T14:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T15:37:16.003-08:00</updated><title type='text'>It's obvious you don't care</title><content type='html'>You know you're getting old when what previously seemed attractive about a guy is now a turn-off. For example, watching the Fall Out Boy video for "I Don't Care" made me hate the vision of a man wearing eyeliner and skinny jeans. The band members were running around acting like a bunch of idiots (albeit, on purpose) while dressed like teenagers, even though they haven't been teens for what, like 10 years now? At least 29-year-old Pete Wentz is old enough to know. There is an age when angst and dressing like a punk become ridiculous, and I think it's somewhere just before the big 3-0. Ha, he's even a father now -- How stupid to go out looking like an immature jerk with a baby in tow. I guess dressing "cool" is part of the rock star life, even though I get the feeling these guys would be dressing the same whether in a band or working at McDonald's. All the time I see people who think shirking style in favor of trends makes them cool, only to wind up looking like a slacker. It's kind of sad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, to me a grown man should wear shirts that fit (ones with collars are a bonus), clean pants or jeans, and shoes that aren't necessarily made for skaterboarding. Also, what's up with always wearing hoodies? There is such thing as a jacket that doesn't have a hood attached. Men should know there is nothing wrong with wearing clean, classic, and classy attire.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm aware of how snobbish I sound right now, but hey, I don't care either.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7261479408954252380?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7261479408954252380/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7261479408954252380' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7261479408954252380'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7261479408954252380'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/its-obvious-you-dont-care.html' title='It&apos;s obvious you don&apos;t care'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-9031038438851881502</id><published>2009-01-09T23:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-09T23:52:14.885-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A fault like that</title><content type='html'>&lt;meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"&gt;&lt;meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"&gt;&lt;meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 11"&gt;&lt;link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CDOCUME%7E1%5CMIKE%7E1.LAN%5CLOCALS%7E1%5CTemp%5Cmsohtml1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:worddocument&gt;   &lt;w:view&gt;Normal&lt;/w:View&gt;   &lt;w:zoom&gt;0&lt;/w:Zoom&gt;   &lt;w:punctuationkerning/&gt;   &lt;w:validateagainstschemas/&gt;   &lt;w:saveifxmlinvalid&gt;false&lt;/w:SaveIfXMLInvalid&gt;   &lt;w:ignoremixedcontent&gt;false&lt;/w:IgnoreMixedContent&gt;   &lt;w:alwaysshowplaceholdertext&gt;false&lt;/w:AlwaysShowPlaceholderText&gt;   &lt;w:compatibility&gt;    &lt;w:breakwrappedtables/&gt;    &lt;w:snaptogridincell/&gt;    &lt;w:wraptextwithpunct/&gt;    &lt;w:useasianbreakrules/&gt;    &lt;w:dontgrowautofit/&gt;   &lt;/w:Compatibility&gt;   &lt;w:browserlevel&gt;MicrosoftInternetExplorer4&lt;/w:BrowserLevel&gt;  &lt;/w:WordDocument&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 9]&gt;&lt;xml&gt;  &lt;w:latentstyles deflockedstate="false" latentstylecount="156"&gt;  &lt;/w:LatentStyles&gt; &lt;/xml&gt;&lt;![endif]--&gt;&lt;style&gt; &lt;!--  /* Style Definitions */  p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal 	{mso-style-parent:""; 	margin:0in; 	margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:12.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman";} @page Section1 	{size:8.5in 11.0in; 	margin:1.0in 1.25in 1.0in 1.25in; 	mso-header-margin:.5in; 	mso-footer-margin:.5in; 	mso-paper-source:0;} div.Section1 	{page:Section1;} --&gt; &lt;/style&gt;&lt;!--[if gte mso 10]&gt; &lt;style&gt;  /* Style Definitions */  table.MsoNormalTable 	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; 	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; 	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; 	mso-style-noshow:yes; 	mso-style-parent:""; 	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt; 	mso-para-margin:0in; 	mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; 	mso-pagination:widow-orphan; 	font-size:10.0pt; 	font-family:"Times New Roman"; 	mso-ansi-language:#0400; 	mso-fareast-language:#0400; 	mso-bidi-language:#0400;} &lt;/style&gt; &lt;![endif]--&gt;  &lt;p style="font-family: arial;font-family:georgia;"  class="MsoNormal"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;I can’t decide what’s worse: To think to yourself, "I’m glad I’m not messed up like (insert name here)"; or to think, "Wow, my life would be much better if I was (insert name here)." Neither of those thoughts will get you anywhere – one will lead to dissatisfaction, the other will lead to arrogance and a sense of self-importance. I blame it on Arby's. I blame everything on Arby's.  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-9031038438851881502?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/9031038438851881502/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=9031038438851881502' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/9031038438851881502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/9031038438851881502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/fault-like-that.html' title='A fault like that'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2051038646056060172</id><published>2009-01-07T22:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-07T22:14:30.267-08:00</updated><title type='text'>So much doubt</title><content type='html'>This isn't what I went to school for, is it? All that hard work, all that money, all that time spent memorizing and writing and reading and reciting has gotten me what?&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Not very much. I'm not entirely convinced it was worth it. I feel like I've written this too often for it to have meaning anymore, yet the idea continues to run through my mind with the same impact it did that first time I thought it. Where do I go from here?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2051038646056060172?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2051038646056060172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2051038646056060172' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2051038646056060172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2051038646056060172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/so-much-doubt.html' title='So much doubt'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2920319924015372565</id><published>2009-01-06T20:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T21:09:07.142-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My yearly review</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;I know, I know, looking back on the year 2008 is a little cheesy, but it's my blog and I'll do what I want to. I want to fill this out. So there.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 51, 153);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(51, 0, 51);"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;JANUA​RY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;1 Who kisse​d you on new years​?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Craig, but only after we fought a lot.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;2 Did you have a New Year'​​s Resol​ution​ this year?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;I'm sure I did, probably something along the lines of getting in shape and being happy.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;3 Does it snow where​ you live?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Sometimes, but usually not very much.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;4 Do you like hot choco​late?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Indeed, especially when it's from 7 Eleven. Yum!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;5 Have you ever been to Times​ Squar​e to watch​ the ball drop?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;No, and I think the amount of people there would send me into convulsions. I'm very claustrophobic.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;FEBRU​ARY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;1 Who was your Valen​tine?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Craig! We went to Cheesecake Factory to celebrate.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;2 When you were littl​e,​​ did you buy Valen​tine'​​s for the whole​ class​?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;We had to.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;3 Do you care if the groun​dhog sees its shado​w or not?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Nope.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;MARCH​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;1 Are you Irish​?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Maybe a teensy little bit that I don't fully know about.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;2 Do you like corne​d beef and cabba​ge?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Yes, plus the potatoes and cornbread. Mmm mmm Renee made a killer meal last year.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;3 What did you do for St Patri​ck'​​s Day?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Ate the food mentioned above in the Oregon City apartment. It was delicious.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;4 Are you happy​ when winte​r is prett​y much over?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Absolutely! I hate the cold, rainy months.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;5 Do you get tons of candy​ for Easte​r?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;Not at all, actually. We never really have.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;APRIL​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="color: rgb(255, 255, 255);"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1 Do you like the rain?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hardly. But at least it's not snow, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;2 Did you play an April​ fool'​​s joke on anyon​e this year?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that I can recall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;3 Do you celeb​rate 4/​​20?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Haha, no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;4 Do you love the month​ of April​?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's not the worst, though it is kind of dull. This year the whole family went to Michigan, so that was neat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;5 Your birth​day is in April​,​​ isn'​​t it?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wrong! I like how assuming the writer of this survey is...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;MAY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1 What is your favor​ite flowe​r?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tulips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;2 Finis​h the phras​e "​​April​ showe​rs…"​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;bring May showers, which bring June showers. I'm a native Oregonian, what can I say?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;3 Do you celeb​rate May 16th:​​ Natio​nal Pierc​ing Day?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never heard of it. I might this year though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;4 Is May anyth​ing speci​al to you?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are a few birthdays in there, plus it's almost summer which equals fun times. So yes, it is special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;JUNE&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1 What year did you gradu​ate from high schoo​l?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2001&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;2 Did you do anyth​ing fun durin​g this month​?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My birthday, Joseph's birthday, lots of other birthdays, and the big golf tournament in Heppner was at the end of the month. That was loads of fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;3 Do you have a favor​ite baseb​all team?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess the Mariners, but I also kind of favor Cleveland.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;JULY&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1 What did you do on the 4th of July?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had dinner with the parents and then went downtown to watch the fireworks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;2 Did you watch​ the firew​orks?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;3 Did you blast​ the A/C all day?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure it was on, but I bet I didn't need it very much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;AUGUS​T&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1 What was your favor​ite summe​r memor​y of '08?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is a tough call. My birthday party was great, as was the weekend in Heppner, the first beach trip, and Craig's birthday dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;2 Did you have a sunbu​rn?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that I can remember...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;3 Did you go to the pool a lot?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The pool at Craig's house, what what.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;SEPTE​MBER&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1 Are you atten​ding colle​ge/​​schoo​l?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I  haven't for about 3 years now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;2 Do you like fall bette​r than summe​r?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No way. Fall is a sad time for me, as I mourn the loss of sunshine and warmth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;3 What happe​ned this month​?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mir's birthday. I think that might be it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;OCTOB​ER&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1 What was your last Hallo​ween costu​me?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Um, I think it must have been one of the sand monster things from Star Wars.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;2 What is your favor​ite candy​?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh dear, probably peanut butter M&amp;amp;Ms, but anything with caramel is also right up there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;3 What was your favor​ite thing​(​​s)​​ about​ this month​?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Idaho football game against New Mexico State was amazing. Okay, I didn't really pay attention to the actual game, but the weekend was fabulous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;NOVEM​BER&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1 Whose​ house​ do you go to for Thank​sgivi​ng?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom and Dad's.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;2 What are you thank​ful for?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My family and friends, Craig.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;3 Do you love stuff​ing?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh my gosh, yes. My mom makes the best in the world,  hands down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;4 Anyth​ing speci​al in this month​?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After-Thanksgiving sales, the pre-Christmas buzz around town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;DECEM​BER&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;1 Do you celeb​rate Chris​tmas?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Heck yes!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;2 Have you ever been kisse​d under​ the mistl​e toe?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not really sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;3 What do you want this year?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: italic;"&gt;4 What do you love most about​ Decem​ber?​​&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The excitement of the Christmas season! The cookies, the shopping, the music, the decorations, the tree, the church services, the happy feeling that fills the air -- all of it is just so special.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2920319924015372565?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2920319924015372565/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2920319924015372565' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2920319924015372565'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2920319924015372565'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/my-yearly-review.html' title='My yearly review'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4826249737963747195</id><published>2009-01-06T18:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T18:26:32.249-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Rain, rain, go away</title><content type='html'>I wish problems really could just go away if you pushed them out of your mind. For once I would like to have something disappear solely because I ignored it, rather than having it reappear at a later time as an even bigger issue. How great would that be? "I didn't pay my taxes and the IRS is pissed? Oh well, I don't care!" "The boss wants to talk to me in private about my recent tardiness? Sorry, I'm too busy and important." "A voicemail from the collection company about some unpaid credit card bills? Delete." Ha, who am I kidding? Nothing would ever get done, nobody would care, and the world would be utter chaos. But still, sometimes I like to think about how nice it would be...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4826249737963747195?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4826249737963747195/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4826249737963747195' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4826249737963747195'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4826249737963747195'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/rain-rain-go-away.html' title='Rain, rain, go away'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-6229215438513040466</id><published>2009-01-05T17:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T17:13:52.288-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A new project for the new year</title><content type='html'>Today I bought a broom and swept the kitchen. I took the trash to the dumpster. I tried on some shoes without buying them. Oh yeah, and I created a new blog: http://i-are-smart.blogspot.com/. Check it out!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-6229215438513040466?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/6229215438513040466/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=6229215438513040466' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6229215438513040466'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/6229215438513040466'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-project-for-new-year.html' title='A new project for the new year'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7012101950202812047</id><published>2009-01-04T22:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-05T11:00:52.364-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Men are like diamonds</title><content type='html'>For me, selecting a new calendar is a roundabout way of showing what interest I deem will be appropriate for the next year of my life. Growing up it was always Winnie the Pooh or Tigger. Later on I had Lance Bass/'N Sync, after that I think I had Queer Eye for the Straight Guy, Mutts, Clay Aiken, Sex and the City, Justin Timberlake -- You get the picture. I've had a lot of different calendars throughout my lifetime, but there is one series I have grown very fond of that involves scantily-clad men and ironic slogans. That's right, I'm talking about the "Men are like... " calendars. My favorite from last year is, "Men are like fairy tales... They seem to make more sense when you're young." Jaded? A bit. Sarcastic? You bet. Funny? To me, absolutely. Some people find it offensive, and by some people I mean my friend David. I couldn't tell if he was serious or if he just liked to argue with me, so for Christmas last year I got him a "Women are like... " one. He later told me he didn't even open it, so maybe he wasn't kidding. Waste of money, anyone?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get a kick out of these things. I sent one to Renee as a gag gift when I was going to school in Pullman, and I liked it so much that I had to get one for myself the next year. And the next. And the next. I didn't buy one this year because I was hoping my mom would give it to me for Christmas, and now that I know she hasn't, I should be able to easily go out and get it. Right? Sure, except the only one I've seen was at Washington Square. Do I want to drive all that way for one measly item when I have a Barnes and Noble (gift card alert) right by my house? I guess not. I guess I'm too lazy to risk wasting my time and gas for something that may already be sold out, since I bought my 2009 calendar earlier tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So what will be gracing my walls for the next 12 months? "Skylines of the World, Past and Present," which contrasts photos of what notable cities used to look like with what they look like now. It's kind of cool. Plus, this was literally the only decent one left at B&amp;amp;N. Well, there was a Family Guy one that was funny, but Renee and I agreed that it "just wasn't me." Maybe this is just my year to become a more mature individual. Goodbye poster men and man-bashing humor... I will remember you fondly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7012101950202812047?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7012101950202812047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7012101950202812047' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7012101950202812047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7012101950202812047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/men-are-like-diamonds.html' title='Men are like diamonds'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7945455513225723728</id><published>2009-01-03T23:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-03T23:30:09.699-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad form</title><content type='html'>Being around my family is so exhausting sometimes. Like earlier today when we had our delayed Christmas dinner: Everyone was in a bad mood because Mom planned on dinner being done early in the afternoon and Dad was on his usual schedule of sitting down at around 7, but neither of them communicated any of this, causing the food to be ready at varying times. Us girls literally laid around all afternoon doing nothing -- which is fine when it's an actual holiday, but not so much during the rest of the year. All they had to do was talk about things and then tell us the plan, yet for some reason they did not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I paid the favor forward by becoming really nit-picky with Craig. Way to take it out on an innocent person, eh? I love my parents to death, but God help me if I turn into them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7945455513225723728?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7945455513225723728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7945455513225723728' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7945455513225723728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7945455513225723728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/bad-form.html' title='Bad form'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2471522391704185261</id><published>2009-01-02T23:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T23:21:27.455-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Good friends, good times</title><content type='html'>I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed exploring the world around me until tonight, when the girls and I skipped a movie we'd planned to see and went on the prowl for some fun. There is nothing like a night drive with the music loud to make you remember how great you have it. Thank you, reasonable gas prices, for making this night possible.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2471522391704185261?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2471522391704185261/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2471522391704185261' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2471522391704185261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2471522391704185261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/good-friends-good-times.html' title='Good friends, good times'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5813828761974927149</id><published>2009-01-01T23:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T12:21:58.241-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A new beginning</title><content type='html'>Hello 2009! I know some people think new year's resolutions are trite, and while I somewhat agree, I still make a few in my head to motivate myself toward change. This year I additionally am going to map out some goals for what I hope to accomplish during the next 365 days, including:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Write every day.&lt;/span&gt; Even if it's only a page in the back of an old notebook, I want to try to keep my thoughts in order by getting them down on paper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Try new recipes. &lt;/span&gt;I'm not afraid to experiment with weird ingredients, so I'd really like to find recipes that incorporate classic flavors with unfamiliar tastes. I want to be confident about working with curry, quinoa, cardimom, risotto, turnips, shrimp, kale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Figure out what I want to do with my life. &lt;/span&gt;Do I want to keep trying to make it in an industry that's going to get worse before it gets better - if it even will? Do I want to go back to school to be a teacher? Should I start looking for something completely random that will earn me a lot of money? Hmm. Hmm.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Find meaningful employment.&lt;/span&gt; I want to start working somewhere that not only pays me a fair wage, but that also gives me a sense of accomplishment and makes me excited to get up in the morning. This coincides with the one listed above.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Ask for more favors. &lt;/span&gt;I do a lot for a lot of people, but for some reason I feel guilty when I ask anybody for help. This needs to change.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Stop worrying.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Run a marathon. &lt;/span&gt;I really want to do this for me, and if I can get hooked up with one that helps out a good cause, even better. This must happen before June 12.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Dress smarter.&lt;/span&gt; I've decided that I would rather be overdressed than underdressed. It's okay to look classy when only going to the store for milk, and in honor of that I am pulling my heels out of their hiding place in the closet. Sorry feet, it must be done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Stop making plans and not doing them. &lt;/span&gt;Pick something, do it,  move on; otherwise I end up feeling like a failure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Don't be so negative.&lt;/span&gt; It's okay to look on the bright side of things. Really, it is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5813828761974927149?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5813828761974927149/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5813828761974927149' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5813828761974927149'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5813828761974927149'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2009/01/new-beginning.html' title='A new beginning'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2622470076922994801</id><published>2008-12-31T00:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-31T10:43:38.942-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kiss me at midnight</title><content type='html'>I cannot believe the year 2008 is almost over. I remember when it first began: I was in Heppner with Craig, really upset, really drunk, really wishing I could disappear. Let's just say it was an interesting New Year's Eve. A lot has happened since then, as outlined below.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Falling in love: Good.&lt;br /&gt;Being laid off: Bad.&lt;br /&gt;25th birthday party: Good.&lt;br /&gt;Family trip to Michigan: Good.&lt;br /&gt;Roadtrip to Montana: Good.&lt;br /&gt;Economy: Bad, bad, bad.&lt;br /&gt;Sex and the City movie: Good.&lt;br /&gt;Renee's 21st birthday: Bad.&lt;br /&gt;Celebrating Renee's 21st birthday: Good.&lt;br /&gt;Golf tournament weekend in Heppner: Good.&lt;br /&gt;Politics: Bad.&lt;br /&gt;Valentine's Day: Good.&lt;br /&gt;Cougar football: Bad.&lt;br /&gt;Reaching mid-20s: Bad.&lt;br /&gt;Keeping up with friends: Good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking back on this list made me realize that my years usually revolve around either personal success or professional success, but not both. For example, in 2008 I lost my job but found the man of my dreams; in 2007 I excelled in my position at work but had an up-and-down love life; 2006 is when I landed my dream job while blindly enduring the most destructive relationship I've ever been in. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully 2009 will be my year to have it all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2622470076922994801?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2622470076922994801/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2622470076922994801' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2622470076922994801'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2622470076922994801'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2008/12/kiss-me-at-midnight.html' title='Kiss me at midnight'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2984232091985291511</id><published>2008-12-30T14:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T15:09:16.383-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Crazy, or what?</title><content type='html'>I've always been uptight, but lately it feels a little out of control. Example: On the way home from Christmas dinner, I worried the roads would be slick; I worried my stomach would remain unsettled; I worried how we would manage to carry all of our stuff in without slipping on the ice; I worried about who would clean up everything once we got into the apartment; I worried how the girls would get to work in the morning; I worried that maybe I did something dumb in front of Craig's family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;According to the National Institute of Mental Health, 6.8 million Americans suffer from generalized anxiety disorder. "GAD is diagnosed when a person worries excessively about a variety of everyday problems for at least 6 months. People with GAD can’t seem to get rid of their concerns, even though they usually realize that their anxiety is more intense than the situation warrants. They can’t relax, startle easily, and have difficulty concentrating. Often they have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep. Physical symptoms that often accompany the anxiety include fatigue, headaches, muscle tension, muscle aches, difficulty swallowing, trembling, twitching, irritability, sweating, nausea, lightheadedness, having to go to the bathroom frequently, feeling out of breath, and hot flashes."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well that certainly makes a lot of sense. Just mentioning something is enough for it to suddenly become top priority, bumping all other thoughts from my mind. You nonchalantly ask me where the tape is, but all I hear is "findthetapfindthetapfindthetape." Your inquiry becomes my obsession. Normal? Apparently not. Normal for me? Unfortunately.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2984232091985291511?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2984232091985291511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2984232091985291511' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2984232091985291511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2984232091985291511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2008/12/crazy-or-what.html' title='Crazy, or what?'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-2979076454284697625</id><published>2008-12-23T01:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T23:50:38.460-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Maybe next year</title><content type='html'>Thanks to a huge snow storm, this has been the least Christmas-y Christmas ever. There are no stockings hanging at my parents' house, my apartment, or the place I'm staying right now. The girls and I didn't make a gingerbread house. We haven't watched Christmas Vacation. There have been no frantic trips to the mall to pick up those last-minute gifts. I've been to one church service. Grandma's family get-together was postponed until after the holidays, and Uncle Bob and Aunt Sharon are most likely not hosting anything this year. With the roads as bad as they are, I'm not even positive we will be able to get to Mom and Dad's on Christmas day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even when I was going to college 300-plus miles away from my family, I still made it home with enough time to shop, decorate the tree, make cookies, put together a gingerbread house and just plain prepare. This year, not so much. I guess sometimes you just have to grow up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-2979076454284697625?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/2979076454284697625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=2979076454284697625' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2979076454284697625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/2979076454284697625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2008/12/maybe-next-year.html' title='Maybe next year'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-3915144919680771429</id><published>2008-12-17T20:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T20:15:03.526-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Take it or leave it</title><content type='html'>&lt;p class="MsoNormal"&gt;I realized a few nights ago just how much I have changed in the past year &lt;span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: &amp;quot;Times New Roman&amp;quot;;"&gt;–&lt;/span&gt; In the past six months, even. So who am I now? I’m someone who likes to read fashion magazines. I drink a lot of tea. I think it’s cute when guys wear scarves. I want to be Carrie Bradshaw, minus the smoking, not getting married until 40, cheating on Aidan, and random sexual partners. I stay up late and wake up early (most of the time, anyway). I jog. I get excited about painting my toenails. I have very little patience. My favorite movies don’t always have happy endings. I am in love. I can’t cook very well, but I often try. I eat a lot of vegetables. I live with my two best friends, who also happen to be my sisters. I can’t stand being cold. I find Gerard Butler incredibly attractive. I am inspired by great writing. I drive really fast, and sometimes on the wrong side of the road. I don't know what my favorite color is. I am looking forward to the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-3915144919680771429?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/3915144919680771429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=3915144919680771429' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3915144919680771429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/3915144919680771429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2008/12/take-it-or-leave-it.html' title='Take it or leave it'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-384421033890797697</id><published>2008-12-15T16:27:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-16T01:34:11.932-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Surprise!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a name="cutid1"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;There are some people who use spray paint for art, others who use it as a form of rebellion, and still others who actually paint stuff with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then there are the people who use spray paint to ruin movies... Like in Los Angeles with the billboards for Marley and Me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit A:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SUb2DQYlXXI/AAAAAAAAAE0/-rxRHHHj-hQ/s1600-h/Marley.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SUb2DQYlXXI/AAAAAAAAAE0/-rxRHHHj-hQ/s400/Marley.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280178148936605042" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Exhibit B:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SUb2TkN-BnI/AAAAAAAAAE8/IyvOwILyjDE/s1600-h/marely+2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SUb2TkN-BnI/AAAAAAAAAE8/IyvOwILyjDE/s400/marely+2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280178429138699890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-384421033890797697?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/384421033890797697/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=384421033890797697' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/384421033890797697'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/384421033890797697'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2008/12/surprise.html' title='Surprise!'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SUb2DQYlXXI/AAAAAAAAAE0/-rxRHHHj-hQ/s72-c/Marley.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-1082360042620992983</id><published>2008-12-12T21:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-12T21:43:51.452-08:00</updated><title type='text'>You're only as old as you feel</title><content type='html'>The sad evidence of my grandmother's advancing age came in the form of a voicemail she left the other day. "I'm having the family over for a Christmas party on the 20th, so will you tell Miranda and... and... will you tell Miranda and... oh, oh, I can't think of her name, but will you tell her?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes Grandma, I'll tell Renee. I'll also be sure to visit you a lot more often.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-1082360042620992983?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/1082360042620992983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=1082360042620992983' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/1082360042620992983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/1082360042620992983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2008/12/youre-only-as-old-as-you-feel.html' title='You&apos;re only as old as you feel'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-7890407084409108470</id><published>2008-12-10T01:03:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T01:12:36.591-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Time takes us all</title><content type='html'>I almost thought I was ready to be a mom, but eight days with Lily and Zoe showed me otherwise. I'm sure a good amount of my distress can be blamed on the fact that these girls have been raised in a different manner than I would have chosen; I'm also sure they are a lot better around their parents. That said, I am still doubting my preparedness for the patience, devotion and utter selflessness that parenthood requires. I honestly don't know how people do it. Anyone care to enlighten me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a completely unrelated note, I just got a box of Pop Tarts for $.19, a savings of $2.60. Hooray for using the double coupons on top of an additional discount at Safeway...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-7890407084409108470?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/7890407084409108470/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=7890407084409108470' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7890407084409108470'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/7890407084409108470'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2008/12/time-takes-us-all.html' title='Time takes us all'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-5548023608998787236</id><published>2008-12-02T22:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T22:33:45.883-08:00</updated><title type='text'>On second thought...</title><content type='html'>I'm fully convinced that parenthood is nothing more than a combination of bribes and threats. You sacrifice your sleep, your income, your freedom, and (women, anyway) your body, all to hear the little mongrels complain for the next 18 years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Babysitting is one thing, but a child of my own? I think I'll pass.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-5548023608998787236?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/5548023608998787236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=5548023608998787236' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5548023608998787236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/5548023608998787236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2008/12/on-second-thought.html' title='On second thought...'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-244279730322167153</id><published>2008-11-27T20:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T20:30:25.569-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Um, what?</title><content type='html'>Have you ever wondered what happened to the Backstreet Boys? Time has definitely not been kind to these guys. Yikes. I never thought I'd see the day that Howie was the best-looking member of the group...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SS9ynZU0XyI/AAAAAAAAAEs/qCovqTMkrDo/s1600-h/bsb+ick.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 172px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SS9ynZU0XyI/AAAAAAAAAEs/qCovqTMkrDo/s400/bsb+ick.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5273559709812809506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nick's face is the stuff of nightmares, for real.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-244279730322167153?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/244279730322167153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=244279730322167153' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/244279730322167153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/244279730322167153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2008/11/um-what.html' title='Um, what?'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SS9ynZU0XyI/AAAAAAAAAEs/qCovqTMkrDo/s72-c/bsb+ick.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8123405225698734885.post-4415129300314937173</id><published>2008-11-26T14:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T09:59:36.977-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What are we celebrating?</title><content type='html'>I think it's really indicative of the American culture that we set aside one day each year to show our thankfulness. It's as though by reflecting on our blessings as a unified group for a 24-hour period, we are excused from the selfishness that dominates the rest of the year. What about during May, when there aren't any major events to celebrate? Are we so robotic that we need to be told when to show our appreciation?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, like almost all other holidays, Thanksgiving has become so commercialized that it barely reflects what it was created for. These days it's more about food and football than family and friends, and it certainly isn't observed as a celebration in honor of the Pilgrims. I was reminded of this just a couple days ago while babysitting my friend's two daughters. Lily, the 8-year-old, was describing for me a house on the way to her school. She said they'd had Halloween decorations up in September and the Christmas stuff came out weeks before it was even Thanksgiving,  just like in all the stores. This was so offensive to her because, as she put it, Thanksgiving is one of "the only truly American holidays" (well, that and the Fourth of July).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you think about it," she said, "people in Africa aren't going to celebrate Thanksgiving. They don't care about the Pilgrims coming to America. We're the only ones who care about it." She thinks that's pretty neat. I think she's pretty neat.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8123405225698734885-4415129300314937173?l=slowjerk.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/feeds/4415129300314937173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8123405225698734885&amp;postID=4415129300314937173' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4415129300314937173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8123405225698734885/posts/default/4415129300314937173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://slowjerk.blogspot.com/2008/11/what-are-we-celebrating.html' title='What are we celebrating?'/><author><name>lanepajane</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05243677237363731562</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_12FBPoK2KC4/SXRNUdTrBpI/AAAAAAAAAFg/5GX8SD_thqY/S220/1+043.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
