tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-22476096994666278632024-03-13T20:07:23.944-07:00Berkley.Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger122125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-7323241904787921212012-12-06T17:37:00.000-08:002012-12-06T17:37:00.125-08:00Life Lately<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Okay, I'll admit it. I'm not a cat person in the least (mainly it stems from the fact that I'm insanely allergic to them). BUT, lately I've been completely entertained by a cat named 'colonelmeow' on Instagram. I'm a little embarrassed to admit how much time I spent looking through (and laughing at) his pictures the first day I found his account. For those not familiar with colonelmeow, he's a cat that's grumpy looking 24/7 - the pictures his 'Master' posts on Instagram are always, <u>always</u>, hilarious. </div>
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Meet Colonel Meow:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsPmjkWm6hotbH_9-WTCQHLmHf5hFpCGLnOd5cLTFsG7lGNiUmSanogmwxGnruc3_Al4Tlp2Va_U0OddtW8Vws19axwhyz8f0prHpJiyEnedQdCx7aZfDSMl31bRiq21fqTdsYajKCILwp/s1600/photo.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsPmjkWm6hotbH_9-WTCQHLmHf5hFpCGLnOd5cLTFsG7lGNiUmSanogmwxGnruc3_Al4Tlp2Va_U0OddtW8Vws19axwhyz8f0prHpJiyEnedQdCx7aZfDSMl31bRiq21fqTdsYajKCILwp/s320/photo.PNG" width="213" /></a></div>
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I think Colonel Meow could probably make friends (or be frenemies) with this cat I found on Pinterest. This one definitely made me LQTM*. A lot. Enjoy.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFa2_xv-L2O5TNmNrzPzjndu17ZJHNjovdUW8zLwf5hFY9VX8g6hmECf8mIr4mx8pukE1PZwLdYNMuqVkEqlO5pae7ptp68mjyCQ93xXIb8wiP5tPnhJo9kiOh8NbnlHu4sO_PnI_O8fLM/s1600/photo%5B2%5D.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFa2_xv-L2O5TNmNrzPzjndu17ZJHNjovdUW8zLwf5hFY9VX8g6hmECf8mIr4mx8pukE1PZwLdYNMuqVkEqlO5pae7ptp68mjyCQ93xXIb8wiP5tPnhJo9kiOh8NbnlHu4sO_PnI_O8fLM/s320/photo%5B2%5D.PNG" width="213" /></a></div>
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Wow, did I seriously just write a blog post about cats? Am I 'that' person? *sigh* To make up for it, I'll post a picture of what I ate for lunch today. Yay for Brussel-sprouts. Does it mean I'm officially an adult if I choose to eat them on purpose? Take that, picky eaters of the world.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHLuQAXW6b-tK4SThdICnl_0YTDiDc69Gf2tKVwrnnzfnBKqBQEtOttwKIdmY2_-2brT7t5gFc2WkDfYH27_ILW5Uo0FSldGoG8gVj6oRMFfmDBuRJVPQckAdokxSqJ-euD3Uccul8-bVx/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHLuQAXW6b-tK4SThdICnl_0YTDiDc69Gf2tKVwrnnzfnBKqBQEtOttwKIdmY2_-2brT7t5gFc2WkDfYH27_ILW5Uo0FSldGoG8gVj6oRMFfmDBuRJVPQckAdokxSqJ-euD3Uccul8-bVx/s320/photo.JPG" width="302" /></a></div>
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Oh, and I am beyond excited to go home for Christmas in two weeks and two days (but who's counting?). I can't remember the last time I was able to go home for more than 5 days at a time, so the thought of staying for (possibly) ten days makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Ten days with the family... relaxing... wearing pj's all day long... not being at work... eating good food... Christmas... reading... napping... ahh. Can't wait! </div>
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Merry Christmas! </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2TPcanCZBDYi6qdSOkEo3WvA14B4F-smZJpeURFqM9rqIUhJ3w08FDiO6FhhjA_NRx29YAq-F2Xn1E1dAWlfnpaFENyQhiUlflFL_2ShN4JwBflmi327CNS16Z8_A2a8VwzUg5aWwaE-p/s1600/photo%255B1%255D.PNG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2TPcanCZBDYi6qdSOkEo3WvA14B4F-smZJpeURFqM9rqIUhJ3w08FDiO6FhhjA_NRx29YAq-F2Xn1E1dAWlfnpaFENyQhiUlflFL_2ShN4JwBflmi327CNS16Z8_A2a8VwzUg5aWwaE-p/s320/photo%255B1%255D.PNG" width="213" /></a></div>
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*LQTM = laugh quietly to myself</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-70390647528673331662012-06-25T14:30:00.003-07:002012-06-26T13:27:46.254-07:00Life LatelyOh hey, blog, nice to meet you. Yes, I know I've severely neglected my blog lately. I'll try to make it up to you by posting the smorgasbord-iest blog posts of all blog posts:<br />
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Thanks to Pinterest, I've had the urge to cook. And bake (weird, right?). At the beginning of June I decided to buy myself one of these (a cast iron pot):</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpGwPQxZR6qJNvTsh8XNzvsx_frl8Xo7W_Q2ke9_Pj_YZvmjbZm6pzcCbXDR-91G-URbeMsY67oba1qLPPETTadQLfhgui_RpDJbY4N-Ay8ZzvYS72pC1l8XBV2cPQj5WjRQbZH6M2kbD/s1600/Cast+Iron+pot.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHpGwPQxZR6qJNvTsh8XNzvsx_frl8Xo7W_Q2ke9_Pj_YZvmjbZm6pzcCbXDR-91G-URbeMsY67oba1qLPPETTadQLfhgui_RpDJbY4N-Ay8ZzvYS72pC1l8XBV2cPQj5WjRQbZH6M2kbD/s320/Cast+Iron+pot.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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To make some of these:</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZmkGitkUjldr-9e0sgeK2hUKWtyoUUA-2cLOJLBMYrRtMWnLf0zIBPGAKO7gn3FdukzsVdvdWAwc7xh2ct29grByef9qzxnEinCzTICbGF1ct-pN8PK2zmMuryuu95G7KwZe6NH3_NES/s1600/cranberry+white+vanilla+chips.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBZmkGitkUjldr-9e0sgeK2hUKWtyoUUA-2cLOJLBMYrRtMWnLf0zIBPGAKO7gn3FdukzsVdvdWAwc7xh2ct29grByef9qzxnEinCzTICbGF1ct-pN8PK2zmMuryuu95G7KwZe6NH3_NES/s320/cranberry+white+vanilla+chips.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUt2gZELGHDohEE2NNJenFvN35uXJrXcNkWxU5bA0oCO6f3Po16UPnR_D3FunapzMosc6DVIiepk1SJwrw7Bc2vGu8FFPusmgdrN-sLWCorPOT35SURUptC8nzkpp3eFnY3hyphenhyphenqo4Vdv23j/s1600/white+bread.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUt2gZELGHDohEE2NNJenFvN35uXJrXcNkWxU5bA0oCO6f3Po16UPnR_D3FunapzMosc6DVIiepk1SJwrw7Bc2vGu8FFPusmgdrN-sLWCorPOT35SURUptC8nzkpp3eFnY3hyphenhyphenqo4Vdv23j/s320/white+bread.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I've never really baked bread lately, so I was quite pleased with the results. The top loaf is cranberry/white vanilla chip ... and the bottom is plain white bread. Oh my. That cranberry/white vanilla chip bread was DELISH (not to toot my own horn or anything...). I'll definitely be adding that one as a staple in my bread-making endeavors. </div>
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Oh, then I decided to get me one of these: </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwL9uFyeMrUU8E5deoW5taqsae0MuRUZnqIS9mCeqpKgHqVn1kXKFFctdZinkpNKLFF6hcqi56k2UuSM1cvKz7PYgPkV1bm3I1PtIuZOjsNNF24HQ95COlHO60SAtJQ9jvVMdzCzXtvTK5/s1600/bike.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwL9uFyeMrUU8E5deoW5taqsae0MuRUZnqIS9mCeqpKgHqVn1kXKFFctdZinkpNKLFF6hcqi56k2UuSM1cvKz7PYgPkV1bm3I1PtIuZOjsNNF24HQ95COlHO60SAtJQ9jvVMdzCzXtvTK5/s320/bike.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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I have a few friends that are really into biking, so I decided to jump on the band-wagon (hey, anything to get me to exercise 'for fun' sounds like a good idea). </div>
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The first time I took my bike out for a spin, it was tons of fun. But, the next day, my tush was SORE. That's what I get for not riding a bike in 10 years... a couple days later I wanted to go on another bike ride with my friend Wendy, so I decided to improvise a bit. I hadn't gotten the 'special padded bike shorts' yet, so I decided to be innovative. Here was my invention:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc9VihEdSeNeJtzGdE6-eal6OOTOZoWZJCATEERqCXwXqVD0r0Orv1HoWxmXw1n7lE_ejMbox_TTUFtnJViwkHKreY6QAhbuZgMAeehfb32mL0KFfW4ZDUuEclZi1J0t4V4L_hlEBoPtKi/s1600/bike+seat.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc9VihEdSeNeJtzGdE6-eal6OOTOZoWZJCATEERqCXwXqVD0r0Orv1HoWxmXw1n7lE_ejMbox_TTUFtnJViwkHKreY6QAhbuZgMAeehfb32mL0KFfW4ZDUuEclZi1J0t4V4L_hlEBoPtKi/s320/bike+seat.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Yes, indeed, that is a hoodie wrapped around my bike seat (what you can't see is a small kitchen towel folded neatly underneath the hoodie). Wendy laughed at me, but I was able to ride my bike up the Millcreek Pipeline trail just fine* where we got to see this view (although, my tush definitely pained me the next day):</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwHhQelYl-yzh9jLlJgorUXSWQq9i8AXPICo7CANoca1Pv7tIz5SvFiDgBlqGKhUaScvyWBJGQ7twdjLFu1N4-3TNA-oI6Jbj59cyEq7gDqsrYhtVJPIbdcYudPwzsv12Xo8EfW1F7rLX/s1600/Millcreek+pipeline.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwHhQelYl-yzh9jLlJgorUXSWQq9i8AXPICo7CANoca1Pv7tIz5SvFiDgBlqGKhUaScvyWBJGQ7twdjLFu1N4-3TNA-oI6Jbj59cyEq7gDqsrYhtVJPIbdcYudPwzsv12Xo8EfW1F7rLX/s320/Millcreek+pipeline.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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*by 'just fine' I meant with minimal tush pain. I am scared of heights so the trail we took wasn't very 'Berkley-friendly' with all the steep drop offs... Wendy was very patient with my turtle-like speed up the mountain, though...(thanks Wendy!!).</div>
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Oh, and a few weeks ago I changed my hair again. Hello bangs, hello lighter hair. I'm trying to go back to my natural blonde color, so we lightened it up a bit more. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQkBVn8ZKK-5xeM72Fe5kN-AXxhHgXmSheo2L61BQN5xG5v1rfgWYbWoZHysuVg1v6e7fe4-uU_EfuF_CkxUo7iKOUlgoGS1WHBSbU5N6Eu2fB-jPRcrd0eBkCuzCXtcOM0oQkugTwKFJ/s1600/bangs.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCQkBVn8ZKK-5xeM72Fe5kN-AXxhHgXmSheo2L61BQN5xG5v1rfgWYbWoZHysuVg1v6e7fe4-uU_EfuF_CkxUo7iKOUlgoGS1WHBSbU5N6Eu2fB-jPRcrd0eBkCuzCXtcOM0oQkugTwKFJ/s320/bangs.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Speaking of lightening things up, the weather in SLC has been perfect lately; I snapped this photo on one of my lunch breaks. I'm sure my good friends on Instagram are getting tired of my temple square pictures, though... my bad.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-YCz4Y4_nMjNPaLp_MUfX9NkXvcLV_vlDO_8BIRfeAxlIEiP0MnXErwjUIi9z0pkIhR1ot0EW0GtOUwon8d1FUDYxIiW-dj0gdKKgTVdn-AE-rtx_aydWnbLGIVnhGYRe-zL2H6nSXwdM/s1600/Temple.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-YCz4Y4_nMjNPaLp_MUfX9NkXvcLV_vlDO_8BIRfeAxlIEiP0MnXErwjUIi9z0pkIhR1ot0EW0GtOUwon8d1FUDYxIiW-dj0gdKKgTVdn-AE-rtx_aydWnbLGIVnhGYRe-zL2H6nSXwdM/s320/Temple.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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Oh, and in case you're looking for good books to read, I've been buried under a heap of books called 'The Rangers Apprentice' series by John Flanagan. I'm currently reading the last book...(I think there were 11? I can't remember) but I've been putting it off because I don't want to be sad when the last book finally ends. Does anybody else get sad when a really great book ends? Just kidding, I know other people get sad. That's what Pinterest is for.... to let me know I'm not alone in this world... ha ha</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZRUDw4aqIELn40o4EBwPLl_3uH6fApquj2YOS5RCmugV1Ii4dcT-D77aa0F871qzyTLzOLTX7QbUi9iDwRcYmtxSD8FvxdvyFUtoT3fVyfxWgF5lNh39wA2Doug3qipC_QUBs4YziApo/s1600/rangers+apprentice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJZRUDw4aqIELn40o4EBwPLl_3uH6fApquj2YOS5RCmugV1Ii4dcT-D77aa0F871qzyTLzOLTX7QbUi9iDwRcYmtxSD8FvxdvyFUtoT3fVyfxWgF5lNh39wA2Doug3qipC_QUBs4YziApo/s200/rangers+apprentice.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
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Anywho. This about sums my life up for now. Until next time! </div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-34567648047181026572012-05-02T10:21:00.000-07:002012-05-02T10:21:39.148-07:00Hair + CommentsRemember that one time that I was blonde? Those were good times.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Zp9ztzKHsZlBr5DFDddfQUbhbT2n20WVjbu1CzZ1J_lF6nvoPASUxRtFBYFo2BaOzIukw1xKxzIeVWSpcfxRLdmtkM_aPx7PU8a1JOz8Y8XkGz6NNaKUhDTvJmJWiEAUCRJy-RBZ_MIo/s1600/blonde.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Zp9ztzKHsZlBr5DFDddfQUbhbT2n20WVjbu1CzZ1J_lF6nvoPASUxRtFBYFo2BaOzIukw1xKxzIeVWSpcfxRLdmtkM_aPx7PU8a1JOz8Y8XkGz6NNaKUhDTvJmJWiEAUCRJy-RBZ_MIo/s320/blonde.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
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Well, Easter weekend I dyed my hair red. Those were good times, too.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZ7SetTeQ6UvXLe-EE2MyHLm3KNohNf97DpyNygwXknkjo1sINy_53Fh6O4JR4BVaTzNirT98jv2rNv0GwefHA-IX8cToHBhIZHINC1wzRI9Zn2anIoKN4HPCQuGHSZasfSesiVAa5KgQ/s1600/red.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidZ7SetTeQ6UvXLe-EE2MyHLm3KNohNf97DpyNygwXknkjo1sINy_53Fh6O4JR4BVaTzNirT98jv2rNv0GwefHA-IX8cToHBhIZHINC1wzRI9Zn2anIoKN4HPCQuGHSZasfSesiVAa5KgQ/s320/red.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Last night I decided to dye my hair again... this time DARK. It's so dark it's almost black - with a purple-ish tint to it. I LOVE it!<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZlcUS2-A5iOBKMUiFvPBMvLk02sDi7SrSAqWwVFistW9TBoN0kwpxbXJPZmOuYFmdhGNjJETf5uMnnwJfCVvv4o0OTHuf02woLy-0Ovm4Os2zaHNLeaxnQ1JDDlOTlG3zCy9D-J444sR/s1600/black.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggZlcUS2-A5iOBKMUiFvPBMvLk02sDi7SrSAqWwVFistW9TBoN0kwpxbXJPZmOuYFmdhGNjJETf5uMnnwJfCVvv4o0OTHuf02woLy-0Ovm4Os2zaHNLeaxnQ1JDDlOTlG3zCy9D-J444sR/s320/black.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Who knows what next month's color will be... my hair grows stinking FAST so I'll probably have to color it once a month so my blonde roots don't cause my hair part to look like it's floating...<br />
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I think some of the best parts about dying my hair are the crazy comments I get. 99% of them are good comments, but this one older Sister Missionary that I work with doesn't have... tact. When I first dyed my hair red she gushed about how great it looked (which is fine), but then she said I looked 'washed out' back when I had blonde hair. Really? Awkward. THEN, this morning when I showed up with my new, dark hair she asked 'what color were you trying to do?' Double awkward. Some people really need to learn to keep their mouths shut... ha ha<br />
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It's been fun experimenting with my hair color - I've never been brave enough before to change my blonde hair to anything too drastic, so I'm loving the change!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-29722410131068192062012-03-19T14:34:00.000-07:002012-03-19T14:34:38.183-07:00Curling, eh?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Friday night my friend Wendy invited me to go Curling with her and some of her peeps. It was some good times! But, I was definitely NOT good at the sport. I was perhaps at an average-skill as a sweeper, but I cannot throw worth beans. At all. It was actually pretty comical...<br />
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This is me trying to slide the stone.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_Phq0yMZ4NAsIHVGM_EPkrAyeqgzOxOp6CtS7Me5CYDJjhYGzbZdSr9F6LXCe9ihRTVsd6UfLoRzh3WF65cqQMhhpufS8rDRb89Dqq-fiyvdb2kkl9uHGaoJ2SEYgjv2g1sLBNwWYaFX/s1600/curling1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif_Phq0yMZ4NAsIHVGM_EPkrAyeqgzOxOp6CtS7Me5CYDJjhYGzbZdSr9F6LXCe9ihRTVsd6UfLoRzh3WF65cqQMhhpufS8rDRb89Dqq-fiyvdb2kkl9uHGaoJ2SEYgjv2g1sLBNwWYaFX/s320/curling1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
To Curl, you start out by crouching down in 'happy dog' position (with your bum in the air). Your right foot is in a starting block and your left foot on a slippery slipper. You push off, sliding with the slippery foot forward and your 'starter-block' leg being drug behind you with all your weight balanced on the white pipe thing in my left hand (see the pic). Maybe that's why I was so horrible... I have zero upper-body strength... 1.2 seconds after I left the starting block I basically collapsed in a puddle on the ice. ha ha so great.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOvjKlgaA7OtPiRkBm6PCoK5tKUxyrlkg8LL7vuDlOj7xfoiPlcD_xq9wXp-ra4ltWAhcYSIw9wxf5tA8iW0ZLIuv3HIGArnfxeFRxxd5Lu2nAtaygYUBh01Vr7uVAk0YRhkA5h5qXec_/s1600/curling+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcOvjKlgaA7OtPiRkBm6PCoK5tKUxyrlkg8LL7vuDlOj7xfoiPlcD_xq9wXp-ra4ltWAhcYSIw9wxf5tA8iW0ZLIuv3HIGArnfxeFRxxd5Lu2nAtaygYUBh01Vr7uVAk0YRhkA5h5qXec_/s320/curling+2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Anywho, now I can say I've been curling! How many people can say that? </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-68598582393472918922012-03-09T11:10:00.000-08:002012-03-09T11:10:06.655-08:00Upgrade Time<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I finally decided to upgrade my phone! I've been able to to upgrade since October, but I've been too lazy, er, or something to do it until now. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I got the iPhone last night and have been in LOVE with it since! Shoot, if I knew how awesome this phone was I would have upgraded 6 months ago. I had some fun with it last night and did Facetime calling with a few of my siblings. Here's a gorgeous screen shot of me with my sis Moriah. hehe</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkuFSzhHNGuQLYi5z7lxzKgd68jud5M4WKVrJVv63aeun99mSwqYjpheb1t4ePBrPWUotFOXZcAWTrDs3cl3vBuK6qhimrY64BqsBupdGmyMwGQXDWDRaWuBJUJloh_QeayWm-tDV2c7in/s1600/iphone.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkuFSzhHNGuQLYi5z7lxzKgd68jud5M4WKVrJVv63aeun99mSwqYjpheb1t4ePBrPWUotFOXZcAWTrDs3cl3vBuK6qhimrY64BqsBupdGmyMwGQXDWDRaWuBJUJloh_QeayWm-tDV2c7in/s320/iphone.png" width="213" /></a></div><br />
Also, I don't know how it's possible... but my phone made me feel ashamed last night. I was learning how to use Siri and she said (in quite the snobbish voice) 'you don't have to push the button every time you ask me a question' (or something along those lines). Oh boy...you know technology is running rampant when it affects your self-esteem. ha ha... #firstworldproblemsUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-2588204647011877732012-03-08T11:47:00.001-08:002012-03-08T11:49:30.813-08:00Masters of StyleIf I was a guy... I'd get this razor. Just saying. Well done commercial people... well done.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/7cZH861tZhs" width="560"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-5365810100350712372012-03-01T10:08:00.001-08:002012-03-11T22:15:42.629-07:00Don't Eat Buckyball MagnetsUm, so my poor little Nephew Carter (who turns 2 in May) has been throwing up a lot lately. SO, my sister in law brought him to the hospital a few days ago and demanded that they do an x-ray (or something) on the poor baby to see what is wrong. Good thing she brought him to the hospital... because it turns out he's been swallowing a TON of those buckyball magnets and they created a huge mass in his stomach. They did a scope procedure this morning to get the magnets out and this is what they took out (my sister in law counted them and it ended up being around 66!!):<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxS6Wzivc0Zbo023oXV5caNaXRAnDXHKySa0T8GdCtz4BepLRheGcGh-VdV4NPeZ79vv8yLWPxgrXzk4ToLmp-Qn-FyOhEji5msYAtfa8Ro-ZZpJwA_3wgOr0_PZqYab-3ybl5uZUZTw73/s1600/buckyballs.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxS6Wzivc0Zbo023oXV5caNaXRAnDXHKySa0T8GdCtz4BepLRheGcGh-VdV4NPeZ79vv8yLWPxgrXzk4ToLmp-Qn-FyOhEji5msYAtfa8Ro-ZZpJwA_3wgOr0_PZqYab-3ybl5uZUZTw73/s320/buckyballs.png" width="306" /></a></div><br />
Crazy, right?? Poor little guy.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-21179520783973949072012-02-23T15:48:00.000-08:002012-02-23T15:48:15.125-08:005 WordsZac Efron and Taylor Swift.<br />
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Oh my gosh, these two videos left me with the biggest, goofiest smile on my face. Love them!<br />
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ENJOY.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/skHsvM1NCyc" width="560"></iframe><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/d8kCTPPwfpM" width="560"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-14093713608929869212012-02-21T16:19:00.001-08:002012-02-21T16:21:15.156-08:00Bookstores<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">So, sometimes I get the urge to quit my job and go work at a small bookstore (eh, preferably own the Bookstore, but I'll take what I can get). </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">For example, the kind of Bookstore shown in 'Just Like Heaven' where Jon Heder works. You know, the quirky small Bookstore type. I would have 5 customers a day and could spend all my time reading books and writing short stories for my friends (Court I still need to write that 'The Girl Who...' series. ha ha).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2t_6KiJ_g42UquYRY5lc6OKzh8ljVxDiljpDvh_GuHDy1EDbptasd-_AN-xgnRZPodMfpC6VNACsdHH-JGM4oAa4hiOh3hz-gnD2vOE_ujeIXrl-rbgom8o2JEmhH4slgrqI3sRLJ1Yhb/s1600/bookstore.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2t_6KiJ_g42UquYRY5lc6OKzh8ljVxDiljpDvh_GuHDy1EDbptasd-_AN-xgnRZPodMfpC6VNACsdHH-JGM4oAa4hiOh3hz-gnD2vOE_ujeIXrl-rbgom8o2JEmhH4slgrqI3sRLJ1Yhb/s320/bookstore.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Well, a girl can dream, right? Perhaps someday I'll take the plunge... if I win the lottery. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-34927347615330042482012-01-25T08:23:00.000-08:002012-01-25T08:23:56.324-08:00For All the Single Ladies<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/iqF_PtugyBk" width="560"></iframe><br />
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Ladies, take note. This fellow is a genius.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-9191548592380305702012-01-10T22:22:00.000-08:002012-01-10T22:22:04.809-08:00Jazz Games and Landscaping Duty<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">I think I've been ruined forever. Well, when it comes to Jazz games that is. I used to be happy with the free nose-blood tickets I occasionally got at work. But, the last 2 Jazz games I've gone to have ruined all future expectations of Jazz games. Last Friday I got to watch the Jazz beat Memphis from a suite. Yeah, I KNOW. Then the last game I attended (the end of last season) was lower level, about 9 rows up from the floor. It's amazing how much better games are when you can actually see the player's faces. </span> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;">The only thing missing was my old friend, Kirilenko. I'm quite sad that I won't get to watch my favorite Russian play bball anymore. I might have to add a few stanzas to my <a href="http://www.berkleyhughes.blogspot.com/2010/11/ode-to-kirilenko.html">Ode to Kirilenko</a> to help give myself some closure. For now I'll continue to wear my Kirilenko jersey to bed every night. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="text-align: -webkit-auto;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rjgWfZ9QQf53A9X-vI5sbWIdLJ9f6MUVH5hpWpMQHz4KDnEio9KSFXpLt6T9HPdAdGmu28zIuKWZL2CifZHbSXBe0oGky4ik3g2NmyDeKmzK09bTPApeouDDBq_-3CuG5dVCy6l3HBse/s1600/kelsberkjazz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3rjgWfZ9QQf53A9X-vI5sbWIdLJ9f6MUVH5hpWpMQHz4KDnEio9KSFXpLt6T9HPdAdGmu28zIuKWZL2CifZHbSXBe0oGky4ik3g2NmyDeKmzK09bTPApeouDDBq_-3CuG5dVCy6l3HBse/s320/kelsberkjazz.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiys0fDaXgXAHduueGIs3QEp26rogXG9Dv8vGiJXJdLFcxful2dvZmv7iY05r7RIovpsw1JfQLezV_PGMM-EUgpu9sUPmNf0Sgz-fyxFd2nVK6_gDaaV4JojrUsm7wy5u2320OcrvDUJAQ4/s1600/snuggies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiys0fDaXgXAHduueGIs3QEp26rogXG9Dv8vGiJXJdLFcxful2dvZmv7iY05r7RIovpsw1JfQLezV_PGMM-EUgpu9sUPmNf0Sgz-fyxFd2nVK6_gDaaV4JojrUsm7wy5u2320OcrvDUJAQ4/s320/snuggies.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">I am highly jealous of their Jazz snug snug. </div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZHzeYFtSFn1eYwdV-E4blOBve1JDX9YPH519BVErjKN_pjmOxGtvYCcCQD59VfS64hopHwpipwXT0z3KowyTG9StkSM1w7R4QpFO6gzw2at-hOeEEXhvvijfEJMHzZgXtuEuC7vaG4a9/s1600/jazzsuite.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="207" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdZHzeYFtSFn1eYwdV-E4blOBve1JDX9YPH519BVErjKN_pjmOxGtvYCcCQD59VfS64hopHwpipwXT0z3KowyTG9StkSM1w7R4QpFO6gzw2at-hOeEEXhvvijfEJMHzZgXtuEuC7vaG4a9/s320/jazzsuite.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Oh, and welcome to the team Alec Burks. I may have to replace my Kirilenko jersey with a Burks jersey because, you know, we share the same name. I'll look past his 'optional' spelling of Berks this time around.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">After the Jazz game I helped an old ward friend prepare to propose to his girl, Ellie, by helping to blow up a TON of balloons. And by TON, I mean a TON:</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZae7CPQjEP251J701ocY2Rwh5U7_hBLD-YQw4Wc4CJyqq8HPw5w1mNTCG7QuOGqsWirgv4ktzua6kNZr-RYSO5roYzRyW3yP3c2jufQ8V7tTGeVVbkqepf20XCvXis03TOVqKEBuzuQjx/s1600/Up.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZae7CPQjEP251J701ocY2Rwh5U7_hBLD-YQw4Wc4CJyqq8HPw5w1mNTCG7QuOGqsWirgv4ktzua6kNZr-RYSO5roYzRyW3yP3c2jufQ8V7tTGeVVbkqepf20XCvXis03TOVqKEBuzuQjx/s320/Up.jpg" width="199" /></a></div><br />
Well, I guess I wasn't really the one that 'blew up' the balloons. I mainly helped out by tying off balloons and attaching ribbon to them. Let me just tell you though... at the beginning of the evening it took me 37 minutes to tie off a single balloon (ok, not that long) but by the end of the night I became a trained professional and I am proud to announce that I can now tie off a balloon in approximately .37 seconds. Don't try that at home though, kids. My fingers were killing me by the end of the night from my blazing balloon tying skills and it reminded me of the quote from Happy Gilmore when the Grandma says: "My fingers hurt..." and Ben Stiller says: "well, now your back's gonna hurt, cause you just pulled landscaping duty!"Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-21216483596874390642011-11-01T13:49:00.000-07:002011-11-01T13:49:33.232-07:00Finger UpdateThis is going to be somewhat of a boring blog post, but some of you wanted an update on my finger (*cough* Erin) :)<br />
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The lab results came back late last week and I found out... (drum roll)... that I had a STAPH INFECTION!!! Yup. I'm 99% positive I picked up that beauty at the gym. Now I'm very hyper aware of everything I touch and wash my hands even more than before. There's no way in dang I want to go through an infection like that again. NO bueno. <br />
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My finger is back to it's normal size once again (phew). But, since it was so hugely grotesque and swollen from the infection, my finger is shedding an outerlayer of skin. It's amazing what the human body can recover from. Seriously. Right now the top joint of my finger is basically brand new baby soft skin (super pink), with bits of dried old skin that it's shedding. I feel as if the main reason I'm wearing a bandaid now is to keep people from being horrified at my finger if they accidentally see it. <br />
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Here's what my finger (and bandaid) look like today:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW7V2MaCPX9yxqIzsbZKGodinEcv2-Z70UqB3HJUD3sCidnkD-txhHIDPpQAVfAS0IsNXd4gUrOKj56tQ3zyhI3ibZfPn7gFLjP7SAMUoIesoz6wYBqF0fJZ9-unGXAMvNa57wZhExPQ_h/s1600/hand.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ida="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiW7V2MaCPX9yxqIzsbZKGodinEcv2-Z70UqB3HJUD3sCidnkD-txhHIDPpQAVfAS0IsNXd4gUrOKj56tQ3zyhI3ibZfPn7gFLjP7SAMUoIesoz6wYBqF0fJZ9-unGXAMvNa57wZhExPQ_h/s320/hand.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Now that I took the picture I feel as if I should have prepared a bit more by putting lotion on my fingers or something. Definitely not hand-model material. hehe. AND, if you look closely, you can kind of see a bit of bruising at the bottom of my ring finger from where they had to give me (4) shots of anesthesia in preparation of the draining. bleck. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-37066033454179838222011-10-24T15:44:00.000-07:002011-10-24T15:44:18.772-07:00Never AgainNever again will I ever, ever, EVER pull out a cuticle that's sticking out of my fingernail. I did that about a week and a half ago and usually it doesn't cause any problems... but this time it somehow got infected. No clue how it got infected. I wash my hands about as often as Monk does so, yes, I'm slightly OCD about having clean hands. So who knows how that little bugger of an infection got in there...<br />
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Anyway, I went to the doctor on Friday because it had been bothering me for about a week. It wasn't too bad by that point. Just red and a little swollen. The doc gave me an antibiotic and sent me back on my way. THEN Saturday my finger kind of exploded... It started swelling a TON and I was in so much pain that at around 4am Saturday morning I found the stash of pain killers I kept from my ankle injury earlier this year and downed 2 percocet pills --which is saying a lot because I think I only took 1 pill at a time when I had my ankle injury. Those 2 pills knocked me out until about noonish. Bless the soul of whoever invented that drug...<br />
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Fast forward to today... my finger was still killing me, but I thought it was silly to miss work for a little finger infection so I went in... I lasted until about noonish then told a co-worker I was off to the docs again because seriously. My finger was looking disgusting and it was way too painful to do anything...<br />
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When the doctor saw my finger he was amazed that I had lasted as long as I had without coming in again (what can I say, I'm pretty tough...? hehe). He immediately brought me to a little room where he could do some minor surgery on my finger and pumped my finger up with 4 shots of anesthesia (yeah, ouch) then pricked my finger and started squeezing (and I wont go into too many gross details about that part).<br />
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And yadda yadda yadda this is what I get to wear for the next 3 days:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQhMoVBMmIE9kBkEYXbQjwHn66OhDl7-d6832YqrQCLgI5LaOZHmCFejQgf8-EuC0lQcYR2uuj6Qbra3AXGM1_kw8WibnkrnWSNotCTBA3lFYAticx-rHAsPGN7ClIEUfeJsX7FI3nu16/s1600/finger.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvQhMoVBMmIE9kBkEYXbQjwHn66OhDl7-d6832YqrQCLgI5LaOZHmCFejQgf8-EuC0lQcYR2uuj6Qbra3AXGM1_kw8WibnkrnWSNotCTBA3lFYAticx-rHAsPGN7ClIEUfeJsX7FI3nu16/s320/finger.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I go back to see the doc on Thursday, so I sure hope I wont have to go through that fun time again! Wish me luck. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-84379428291932070282011-10-17T08:44:00.000-07:002012-01-07T14:26:52.917-08:00ZOMBIES!!!Saturday, October 15th, was the day that Salt Lake City attempted to break the 'Most Zombies in One Location' World Record. The World Record is around 4,500 and Salt Lake City wanted to get around 5,000 zombies.... and we fell short by A LOT. I think we mayyybe had 1,000 zombies show up. Oh well, it was still fun! They're going to try for it again next October so we'll see what happens. <br />
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This is our Zombie look:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92VpDfmhCELJ8_1oAC_oLX4y4LacXOYDqAdO4BOTWbgqsg3j23mxrO-G9Psx-YjhERQ__KPN_UmUGdWoihNorlzjSFn2g6VZEbHjtUTin4K8UUgiBuXwl7gtU5FFu6twKyRWvDw6_ZyXf/s1600/zombies.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="179" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg92VpDfmhCELJ8_1oAC_oLX4y4LacXOYDqAdO4BOTWbgqsg3j23mxrO-G9Psx-YjhERQ__KPN_UmUGdWoihNorlzjSFn2g6VZEbHjtUTin4K8UUgiBuXwl7gtU5FFu6twKyRWvDw6_ZyXf/s320/zombies.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlNG8Xkq7svi6ZdVCk85ic_hEl-7YuaZnGED7UXq9ceh08MmbfvNCBy_BTW1gxf3Sy9TF9BEgS0jJ272Jz65Z-2mU4memFUXqBOweLlZQamUFX2kJKLAB0VRwN7BcSIfxQxDyysvLxqP_/s1600/zombies2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="241" oda="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwlNG8Xkq7svi6ZdVCk85ic_hEl-7YuaZnGED7UXq9ceh08MmbfvNCBy_BTW1gxf3Sy9TF9BEgS0jJ272Jz65Z-2mU4memFUXqBOweLlZQamUFX2kJKLAB0VRwN7BcSIfxQxDyysvLxqP_/s320/zombies2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I must say, I'm pretty proud of our Zombie looks. On our way to the Utah Fairgrounds we got some thumbs up by construction workers and a few different people at the Zombie event asked if they could take a picture of us. I think that means we're professional Zombies now. I should put that on my resume.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-78850164622659528892011-10-04T10:21:00.000-07:002012-01-07T14:25:27.390-08:00Getting RustyThis weekend there was a spider camped out above my bed near the intersection of the wall/ceiling. I tried killing it by attacking it with a shoe, but I failed by trying to attack it with a shoe that slightly curved up at the bottom so the only thing that happened when I tried to smash it was the spider falling off the wall and going between my bed and the wall, very much ALIVE still. Only a perfectly flat shoe could have killed the spider in that location. It probably knew it, too. Creepy.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbq8dS5qMuNbHJrJHEPh3-yP-R5DOJ0E4gsqeC2YpcLEIvTmFRik38wMZ9MXZcDqZoSG6I4n97ZbRwNDw5s10MGwaKGOSPACOoQDWGoGJKUcbOjl3ZS96y1Cuwb_bok28kbW63Kt6_LY_I/s1600/spider.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="204" kca="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbq8dS5qMuNbHJrJHEPh3-yP-R5DOJ0E4gsqeC2YpcLEIvTmFRik38wMZ9MXZcDqZoSG6I4n97ZbRwNDw5s10MGwaKGOSPACOoQDWGoGJKUcbOjl3ZS96y1Cuwb_bok28kbW63Kt6_LY_I/s320/spider.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
<br />
Anyway, later that afternoon I went back into my bedroom and saw a bug on my window blinds (over my bed) that looked like a spider (but it wasn’t). I thought ‘oh ho ho silly Berkley… why did I freak out so much earlier when the thing on the wall wasn’t even a spider?!’ I quickly grabbed a Kleenex and killed the little bug. Easy schmeazy. <br />
<br />
Dang spiders; setting bait and throwing me off course.<br />
<br />
Last night the spider was back in its usual spot (above my bed, in the crevice of the wall and ceiling) and I had a minor freak out, imagining the spider crawling around my bed while I slept the night before (while I slept peacefully, thinking that I had killed the bug that wasn’t even a spider). This time I knew I had to kill the dang spider or I would be sleeping on the couch that night. <br />
<br />
Standing on my bed and staring at the spider, eye to eye, I realized it was pretty dang big and gross. I’ve been rusty in my spider killing skills (you can read about my old ninja spider killing skills <a href="http://berkleyhughes.blogspot.com/2010/11/spider-bait-berkley.html">here</a>), so the thought of killing a spider grossed me out completely. Even trying to ask Moriah nicely if she would kill it for me wouldn’t work. Luckily this time I knew all the tricks. I had Moriah give me a flip flop that had a completely flat sole. We moved a trash can directly under the spider and flat against the wall (in case the spider decided to fall again). I practiced killing the spider by putting my flip flop against the wall/ceiling next to the spider to make sure it would be completely flat (hey, I had to leave zero room for errors). And then… I couldn’t do it. I stalled. It was similar to the feeling of stepping up to a cliff and stalling your jump into the water below (let’s be serious here, I’d never jump off a cliff into water… too afraid of heights). Finally, after giving myself a good pep talk, I pounced on the spider and held the shoe there for a few long seconds to make sure the spider couldn't somehow escape. That thing was obliterated... take that spiders. <br />
<br />
Looks like someone is finally smarter than a spider... (yeah, it's me).Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-80946336255905260072011-08-31T12:59:00.000-07:002011-08-31T12:59:37.875-07:00Curse You, AquaScum!Today I was eating outside at my usual, favorite spot (see <a href="http://berkleyhughes.blogspot.com/2011/06/i-could-definitely-get-used-to-this.html">here</a>). It was an especially enjoyable lunch, made up of a few random things I saw at the Asian bar. Usually I avoid the Asian bar because I'm not a huge fan of Chinese food, but today they had a few items that looked delish. Although, they did look suspiciously non-Asian. I picked up some rice (okay, that's pretty asian), little smokies in gravy, a chicken broccoli dish thing (you know, it's kind of like chicken cordon-bleu, but stuffed with broccoli sauce stuff and deliciousness?), and an asian lettuce salad. <br />
<br />
The lunch was especially delicious because I didn't have the chance to eat my usual over-flowing bowl of frosted mini spooners mixed with cheerios for breakfast. <br />
<br />
Anywho, as I was wrapping up my lunch and finishing off the last 10-ish delicious bites, a large BEE swoops down and starts hovering over my food. I, of course, jump away from my bench and leave my food to the bee. UGHH.. <br />
<br />
This is how I felt:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrEIM7NGkHDFa46hHaVcA290Ejh0ejKK4Gzj2yiXSOWU41VRyhhTlGlWh023hcpsxs1NJQn6JIFmFWTkVZGQ8zQYavcXnjuN1OZBjXEFOqB7qgh4vSdcTrFhWQPp6XoKzqjyy5VleiSHJf/s1600/curse+you+aquascum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrEIM7NGkHDFa46hHaVcA290Ejh0ejKK4Gzj2yiXSOWU41VRyhhTlGlWh023hcpsxs1NJQn6JIFmFWTkVZGQ8zQYavcXnjuN1OZBjXEFOqB7qgh4vSdcTrFhWQPp6XoKzqjyy5VleiSHJf/s320/curse+you+aquascum.jpg" width="320" xaa="true" /></a></div><br />
Dang you bee, dang you, for stealing the last enjoyable bites of my meal! Well, he didn't 'steal' my food per se, but he certainly walked his nasty little legs all over my food, making it un-edible! <br />
<br />
Grrr. Looks like I'll just have to dip into the treat drawer at work this afternoon to subsidize my bee-ruined meal... Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-48077421946457807852011-08-31T10:30:00.000-07:002012-01-07T14:22:11.901-08:00Did That Seriously Just Happen?I have quite the story from Church a few Sundays back. One of those stories that can be passed down to future generations to scare young children into getting married early so they don't have to deal with singles wards.<br />
<br />
Here is the story that takes the cake of pure singles wards awkwardness/awesomeness:<br />
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Two Sundays ago I was filing into Sacrament meeting and spotted my roommates at our usual spot (3rd row back, middle section). The row was unusually crowded so I decided to sit one row up, but on the opposite end of the row from my roommates, where there was an empty spot. I sat down next to a random boy that I'd never seen before and didn't pay much attention. I chatted with one of my guy friends behind me until Sacrament started and then turned back around. Once Sacrament started random-boy made the comment that he liked my fingernails and toenails (they were painted an awesome shade of pinkish/orange) and I thanked him... then he asked what the ward building's address was, so I handed him my program (luckily it had the address). That was all our interaction. ALL. <br />
<br />
Once the first speaker started into her talk, I noticed that his hand was awkwardly palm up on the bench next to me and he was slightly wiggling his fingers. I thought "hmm that's weird, it kind of looks like he wants to hold my hand." I ignored it, because there was NO way that was what he was trying to do (since we didn't even know each other). After ignoring the icky, wiggling hand for a while, he started to become more persistant and started nudging my leg with his thumb. The first time it happened, I thought "that's awkward, I wonder if he meant to touch my leg?" (apparently I'm very naive)... then he nudged it again. This time I knew it was on purpose and I sat forward to grab my ward bulletin to pretend to "read" and hopefully give random -boy the hint to leave me the freak alone. But no, I guess random-boy can't take a hint because when I sat back up he leaned towards me and asked "can i hold your hand"? <br />
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WOW. Just wow. I can give some pretty disgusted faces and I'm pretty sure I, unintentially, gave him a horribly disgusted face and said "I DON'T EVEN KNOW YOU!" <br />
<br />
Once I turned him down, he moved his knees away from me and leaned forward (I'm guessing to get away from me?)... and I started giggling silently to myself, thinking "Did that SERIOUSLY just happen?" <br />
<br />
And nope, I still don't know random-boy's name. We didn't talk to each other again for the rest of Sacrament (thankfully) and I escaped once the closing prayer was said. <br />
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Was that the end of the story? I WISH!<br />
<br />
This Sunday I had basically forgotten all about hand-holding boy and went into Sacrament. I plopped down at my usual spot and was chatting with my roommate when I noticed somebody coming to sit by my. You better believe it was random-boy. He didn't say anything to me when he sat down, and I did NOT want to go through another Sacrament meeting with him hitting on me, so I made an excuse to get up to talk to a girl a few rows away... and sat somewhere else.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-71887503990944204532011-08-19T15:58:00.000-07:002011-08-23T09:39:05.181-07:00What a WeekMy oh my. This week has shaped up to be quite lovely. Sarcastically speaking, of course. I'm still trying to find a place to live (seeing as I need to be out of my house in less than 2 weeks), work has been supah busy, and I had quite the awkward moment on Tuesday. So glad it's Friday!! <br />
<br />
In case you're curious about my awkward moment (so awkward I thought the idea of poking my eye out might be a better situation than the one I was in)... here is the story: Tuesday I was in charge of a luncheon (ordering the food, setting it up, etc) for a certain meeting. Usually I'm not the one in charge of these luncheons, but some things changed... and... yadda yadda yadda I have to put together luncheons once a month for a few apostles and a few 70s and some other people. I wasn't too worried about it initially. I thought "I can get it set up and get out of there before anyone sees me!" But that certainly didn't pan out... at the last minute my boss had me order some placemats for the luncheon and that meant I couldn't put anything on the table until the placemats arrived... and that meant by the time the placemats came the meeting attendees were THERE. AHHH (me screaming inside)!! So, I had to awkwardly squeeze between the apostles and 70s to put their food down. It might have been fine if there was one dish, but I had to go back about 4 times to add other bowls, plates, drinks, blah. I tried to keep a calm face on, but I wanted nothing more in life than to leave. You may think, "oh that doesn't sound bad at all!" But it certainly was. It certainly was. I'm not going to continue with this story... it's making me uncomfortable retelling it...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-59828662161515747992011-08-05T09:09:00.000-07:002011-08-05T09:09:08.665-07:00Race Against TimeToday I was running a race. It was a race against time - and the phone. My boss was on the line and I had to pick it up in his office so I could check something on his computer. But, that meant I had to transfer the phone to his office... <br />
<br />
And that meant I had to answer it before somebody else answered the phone. <br />
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I was hoping that the outcome of the race would be like this:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIuALJ_nbDAKWIOzldjgTvKo3PMdRoqAQd8tW0Tg-unoG_3NsEaxJIQ6V4S_XoZ-e0L8RLU7MtPkOjc1jj7RtanNqwIlOrPIfrcHJFa59m6Z8hKr2Et6pvLIN1QQsZg_Iam0QBvtwjaaKm/s1600/winning+a+race.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIuALJ_nbDAKWIOzldjgTvKo3PMdRoqAQd8tW0Tg-unoG_3NsEaxJIQ6V4S_XoZ-e0L8RLU7MtPkOjc1jj7RtanNqwIlOrPIfrcHJFa59m6Z8hKr2Et6pvLIN1QQsZg_Iam0QBvtwjaaKm/s1600/winning+a+race.jpg" t$="true" /></a></div><br />
With me winning and picking up the phone. <br />
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Here's what went down:<br />
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Once I transferred the phone I jumped up, RAN from my desk...<br />
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and, in my usual fashion, I failed miserably. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10egOFkCSMxBCB9mIQyDhEKSy4ZSNevMZlHWSmm48ggTIzKu5IEsJca7xwhKMiAlfKC30Z6U_ANJLmeeqzJZTTkcfAiy4-PAcyxenF7ZyIieMDaR7tuyarw6urT6fpNSCmR-fU2ddy0jY/s1600/running+into+desk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj10egOFkCSMxBCB9mIQyDhEKSy4ZSNevMZlHWSmm48ggTIzKu5IEsJca7xwhKMiAlfKC30Z6U_ANJLmeeqzJZTTkcfAiy4-PAcyxenF7ZyIieMDaR7tuyarw6urT6fpNSCmR-fU2ddy0jY/s320/running+into+desk.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
Nope, I didn't run into a door (but I thought this picture was funny so I had to post it). Instead, I somehow BASHED my leg into the corner of my desk. <br />
<br />
Anyway, my desk run-in slowed me down enough that by the time I got into my boss's office a Secretary had picked up the phone. FAIL. <br />
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After the awkwardness of trying to transfer the phone call back into his office took place, I realized I had a massive bump on my leg... apparently 'Bruise Easy' is back in business.<br />
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(Bruise Easy = the nickname some of my friends gave me.... because... I bruise easy....)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-80380403119963162432011-08-01T15:59:00.000-07:002011-08-01T15:59:15.168-07:00Wasting TimeDear <a href="http://www.iwastesomuchtime.com/">http://www.iwastesomuchtime.com/</a><br />
<br />
I just wasted an hour of my life on you. <br />
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I did find some interesting pictures though.... <br />
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Check out this beautiful rat tail:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVRg3AIosClaYr3OopP_3q_FBkRcMcQ3drpEvxlZ20RlHC5oW92ZM4geyT19Gmymvy3nJH0ZJXrtE641jRXahIdeoza2dEA7p5VxlLKusgMUNH3U11gjUPb2fe-iyGI5tO5tI4rnp2z0v/s1600/rat+tail.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrVRg3AIosClaYr3OopP_3q_FBkRcMcQ3drpEvxlZ20RlHC5oW92ZM4geyT19Gmymvy3nJH0ZJXrtE641jRXahIdeoza2dEA7p5VxlLKusgMUNH3U11gjUPb2fe-iyGI5tO5tI4rnp2z0v/s320/rat+tail.jpg" t$="true" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And who hasn't done this:</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKG_Q6fSkICCSZ8AICrEQr8ShPf-3wPTLnIXKzOQelrk7dNLbo2P9eUadTkMi0xEZGhTsOakzQ6A4J2Tth0tlWQTMvRvR47OzYV-d7BH1tLJes4T5zNtAoH5Z36bBu1a817Sz64J745Vzm/s1600/alarm+clock+pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKG_Q6fSkICCSZ8AICrEQr8ShPf-3wPTLnIXKzOQelrk7dNLbo2P9eUadTkMi0xEZGhTsOakzQ6A4J2Tth0tlWQTMvRvR47OzYV-d7BH1tLJes4T5zNtAoH5Z36bBu1a817Sz64J745Vzm/s320/alarm+clock+pic.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sooo funny....</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-4935852889068178102011-07-29T14:22:00.000-07:002011-07-29T14:22:51.656-07:00Funny BonesDo you ever randomly laugh by yourself? <br />
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Maybe that happens to me more than I should probably admit...<br />
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Last night I was looking through some of my sister's pictures from our family's trip to Oregon and came across this picture:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5Jogb2OmuNIoUYPrEWUnXDnsFFxsGvxWUoe7h-CKGLpVkG-ZkQCbd2nxozZdb2JaFwW-lU6-AlefCbnLvtQEbjE0ok6oC838lEXzfiJ3AdN_S-N4x9t40yZqgya2YAzRGPQfoSxzUgzW/s1600/planking+seal.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV5Jogb2OmuNIoUYPrEWUnXDnsFFxsGvxWUoe7h-CKGLpVkG-ZkQCbd2nxozZdb2JaFwW-lU6-AlefCbnLvtQEbjE0ok6oC838lEXzfiJ3AdN_S-N4x9t40yZqgya2YAzRGPQfoSxzUgzW/s320/planking+seal.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><br />
It's a planking seal! I seriously died laughing. Luckily I was alone in my room (and my roommates weren't home) so I could laugh as hard as I wanted without them wondering what in the world was going on. If any of you are wondering what 'planking' is... youtube it. It's this new craze/phase where people try to hold themselves perfectly straight across objects. Funny stuff... <br />
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This next picture is also from the same Oregon trip they just went on. My little sister Naomi is so funny... her face cracks me up everytime I look at this pic.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZuVzMfqWwe2bckEJK_HnngM9JmCq79GT9gI53kUQIpsBivIz8pjdN4llWraGYAPCHsDmC5JAj2ghGLYlPtotNKSCs2xHcewtI2cSM80xv2A7rEELhKxAAxvvVnOpQjR-GY11w-3XzSy5h/s1600/naomi%2527s+face.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZuVzMfqWwe2bckEJK_HnngM9JmCq79GT9gI53kUQIpsBivIz8pjdN4llWraGYAPCHsDmC5JAj2ghGLYlPtotNKSCs2xHcewtI2cSM80xv2A7rEELhKxAAxvvVnOpQjR-GY11w-3XzSy5h/s320/naomi%2527s+face.jpg" t$="true" width="309" /></a></div><br />
Ahhh I like funny people. <br />
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Anyway, I can't wait to go home and see my family! One more week and I'll be on my way to MT for Gunner's baby blessing. YA-TA.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-72400637063273445072011-07-26T14:33:00.000-07:002011-07-26T14:33:37.678-07:00A Few of My Favorite Things<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">As of July 15, I can now say that I am an aunt to TWO nephews (eh, and zero nieces still... someday though, someday).</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I had to post this picture because Carter's face is just priceless. It looks like he is taking the responsibility of holding his little brother quite seriously. What cuties! </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQ0dR_F6MkiWseFimrCutYAtto6cfsDYWiUsrjM7Kx-fCXbEb8ERRW1rMF52WPpLzLjRaIZfd2k5-sQ2bRdnD08AgAQT22YfnF6pHg6vpg12iDIsfE3VeH-9fZzgDmQrWDMcrJwx_OYAq/s1600/nephews.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPQ0dR_F6MkiWseFimrCutYAtto6cfsDYWiUsrjM7Kx-fCXbEb8ERRW1rMF52WPpLzLjRaIZfd2k5-sQ2bRdnD08AgAQT22YfnF6pHg6vpg12iDIsfE3VeH-9fZzgDmQrWDMcrJwx_OYAq/s320/nephews.jpg" t$="true" width="239" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Also, I thought I would add another picture to go along with my current Zombie theme. This old picture was resurrected on facebook today when my friend Kate Barlow commented on it, saying "<span data-jsid="text">AH, I accidentally just clicked on this picture and it freaked me out. so creepy..."</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGxcolqaFgsX5UdQdZYjcylhmoQyOwzL_Qdzo1Y7-b7WPJP2JfXV_xu2zzKOuvuxJ5qr50xQkCMZPQG5ETK-KPunzlKNXuQBSMeDcOF2fEe24Nc-3gXW4bYIzZ_Y_V_qdg9owExREnwzJ2/s1600/zombie+part+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGxcolqaFgsX5UdQdZYjcylhmoQyOwzL_Qdzo1Y7-b7WPJP2JfXV_xu2zzKOuvuxJ5qr50xQkCMZPQG5ETK-KPunzlKNXuQBSMeDcOF2fEe24Nc-3gXW4bYIzZ_Y_V_qdg9owExREnwzJ2/s320/zombie+part+2.jpg" t$="true" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm so glad I can instill such heart warming feelings in my friends. I certainly strive to do my best, even if that means my best is a Zombie face that strikes horror in the hearts of those that view it.</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-1169112278828322362011-07-19T08:13:00.000-07:002011-07-19T08:13:05.265-07:00Zombie LandZOMBIES ARE IN TOWN! Well, a Zombie is what I like to call myself after I visit the eye doctor. Dilated pupils are immensely enjoyable. Not so much for the part where you can't see anything up close, but because it makes you look creepy. And being creepy is always fun, right? <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitZxSu60S3AZRttcRU_Uyz8vKQYdiUsMI1smzGHzmcFrhnjtU3ZinUS4ioGLC4ujn4IGMr8JsEqaG7K9C0spMrSWwSEwNduBwYbdSy9mV53Ystk82_NIr9BJ8SO9nMjW2JJHlQcBY40xWh/s1600/zombie+eyes.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitZxSu60S3AZRttcRU_Uyz8vKQYdiUsMI1smzGHzmcFrhnjtU3ZinUS4ioGLC4ujn4IGMr8JsEqaG7K9C0spMrSWwSEwNduBwYbdSy9mV53Ystk82_NIr9BJ8SO9nMjW2JJHlQcBY40xWh/s320/zombie+eyes.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">My best friend Courtney asked for a picture of my Zombie eyes, so this one's for you! This is my attempt at a ruthless, mean, Zombie face (eh). I think my favorite part is that you can tell my eyes aren't really focused on the camera because, let's be honest --I couldn't focus on the camera and couldn't even tell if this picture turned out until hours later. ha ha</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Don't worry though, friends. I'm not a Zombie anymore... although, it does remind me of a dream I had once when I got turned into a Zombie... and then I had to turn other people into a Zombie (with a wand) and I was REALLY good at it. So... watch out people. </div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-25790286511488602512011-07-11T16:03:00.000-07:002011-07-11T16:03:42.442-07:00Hugh or Toby, Take Your PickDo any of you watch Friends? <br />
<br />
There's an episode where Chandler's co-worker Bob thinks Chandler's name is actually Toby (all because Bob said "Hey Toby, want a donut?" and Chandler REALLY wanted a donut... so he pretended his name was Toby). Which, Chandler thinks is fine because Bob works on a completely different floor and he will never learn Chandler's real name. UNTIL Bob applies for a job on Chandler's floor and everything goes horribly wrong (including Chandler's office starting on fire... er, or something). <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimjw_VIV5pju_YFNiFSe8r713R3KLMLcTikHkTyD8gZqv8CNW3qo7BzBCfJKx-0DBnQsheOC9yZ6fEKDF5X1tyysorQHhZP1OiDw_7qtqhjgv8bkuYZN9hzyWFjEcAFJfI6ZjSw1M4kTgA/s1600/Chandler.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimjw_VIV5pju_YFNiFSe8r713R3KLMLcTikHkTyD8gZqv8CNW3qo7BzBCfJKx-0DBnQsheOC9yZ6fEKDF5X1tyysorQHhZP1OiDw_7qtqhjgv8bkuYZN9hzyWFjEcAFJfI6ZjSw1M4kTgA/s1600/Chandler.bmp" /></a></div><br />
Anyway.. I'm quite certain that my life is parallel to Chandler's right now. There's a certain Church Office Building Employee that I have to email every week or so to confirm confidential records with. We've never met in person, so he automatically assumes I'm a man (because of my name). I've never corrected him... (which is probably my fault). Today, he took the liberty of shortening my name and calling me Hugh. WHAT THE. Apparently he thinks my first name is Hughes? Not sure where that came from. Anyway. since we're all buddy buddy now (apparently) I can't possibly correct him and let him know I'm female. <br />
<br />
You probably think this is all fun and games... but obviously he doesn't have the new version of Microsoft Outlook that I have. I currently have Microsoft 2010 and it shows the employee ID picture of the people who send you email. Who knows when he'll get the upgrade... I just hope he doesn't have a heart attack when he realizes he's been emailing a girl named BERKLEY and not a man named Hugh. <br />
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I guess I'll find out when he gets the upgrade when he starts calling me Sister Hughes...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2247609699466627863.post-11690202687070027372011-06-28T15:59:00.000-07:002011-06-28T15:59:50.648-07:00I Could Definitely Get Used to This<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Yup... Summer. This is how I get to spend my lunch breaks. Chillin at the prettiest place in Utah every day, just soaking up the sun. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdu1TZ7wCMJQ_yN-mMn1HUNqKXkFSdvpPYOKdk_gRUsyQ4ApozUyOPl-i6FJYDP5KvdNdFk-go6slFQ3iiOyAdxerdpBp0nAT9rVK2InTpQGH3vYRfHbblD_Rilc6KEb9lRv6KFiqK_Aev/s1600/sunshine.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" i$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdu1TZ7wCMJQ_yN-mMn1HUNqKXkFSdvpPYOKdk_gRUsyQ4ApozUyOPl-i6FJYDP5KvdNdFk-go6slFQ3iiOyAdxerdpBp0nAT9rVK2InTpQGH3vYRfHbblD_Rilc6KEb9lRv6KFiqK_Aev/s320/sunshine.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>The only thing that could possibly go wrong with this picture is if my legs don't get slightly darker by the end of the Summer...<br />
<br />
I love you Summer. <br />
<br />
Ben F, I love you too. <br />
<br />
If Ashley kicks you off I will find you. <br />
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p.s. Sorry Mom, Ben F. isn't a real boy. Sorry to get your hopes up... (Bachelorette)Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0