tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-82096396477057298602024-03-18T22:09:13.353-06:00Daily Offensive (baha!)Random ramblings of radical, ravishing revolutionaries! :)Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.comBlogger456125truetag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-66837691303623551242011-08-29T16:34:00.010-06:002011-08-29T18:18:02.504-06:00♥ Ta-dah!<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfmkdxvZAezsfJ0YSBo2lt2DWkQOBEImMm249fkdL45lY-bXr_dLwPwwYVBYqYgtEONkaqssfXcDu6VnL1kejPaO8EMeLVAE8r20JRR9BjMZXCXzHM5TbhtIpaaMJzwHjQCQBalHjxnTo/s1600/321909_10150418615109045_751604044_10891751_7318322_o.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 218px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhfmkdxvZAezsfJ0YSBo2lt2DWkQOBEImMm249fkdL45lY-bXr_dLwPwwYVBYqYgtEONkaqssfXcDu6VnL1kejPaO8EMeLVAE8r20JRR9BjMZXCXzHM5TbhtIpaaMJzwHjQCQBalHjxnTo/s320/321909_10150418615109045_751604044_10891751_7318322_o.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646433270264827746" /></a>
<br /><span class="Apple-style-span">I've found my inner <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">DIY</span> diva. She's fabulous. Her house is amazing and her projects are all <i>to die for</i>. This shall be her first post. There may be others, it just depends on what she finds. </span><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">First, I must give due credit to another crafty blogger from whom I borrowed this idea. Check out <a href="http://mysocalledgreenlife.com/2011/08/upcycle-tshirt-into-funky-necklace.html">My So Call Green Life</a> for inspiration and tutorials galore. You can thank me later. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">For this project, you will need:</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">* a t-shirt. size medium or large works best so you have enough to make it shorter if you want. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">i've</span> heard this doesn't work with 100% cotton shirts, so make sure you find a stretchy blend. </span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">* rotisserie cutter (you can find them at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">wal</span>-mart for about $12)</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">* cutting surface- you don't want to ruin any other surface because the cutter is sharp</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">* 10-12 beads with holes big enough for the fabric to fit through</span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></i></div><div><i><span class="Apple-style-span">* safety-pin (this is optional, it depends on the size of your beads)</span></i></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">To begin, I cut off the torso at the arms. Sorry, I didn't get a picture of this part because I didn't think to blog it until after. Anyway. Imagine drawing a line, horizontally, from one armpit to the other and that is where I cut. </span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Stopping just short of the seam, cut the whole section of cloth into 1/4" to 1/2" strips. Make sure you don't cut through the seam.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj043jK1LWt_7Sv-FR1XP0lZ4KuHtH9mpkXlfYl4hyphenhyphenmC50NdKqovcmcshkpPxs5-8YO3ndoWz_KONa9GoWTDU-wqoAycGQ6gp9i0j264T5KAet0xfrgQBo0DiRZHujAuJiQ4AFpio_8c11z/s1600/IMAG0509.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 191px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj043jK1LWt_7Sv-FR1XP0lZ4KuHtH9mpkXlfYl4hyphenhyphenmC50NdKqovcmcshkpPxs5-8YO3ndoWz_KONa9GoWTDU-wqoAycGQ6gp9i0j264T5KAet0xfrgQBo0DiRZHujAuJiQ4AFpio_8c11z/s320/IMAG0509.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646429901007720738" /></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Take each end of the material in your hand and pull gently (you can do this in small section, too). Each piece will curl into itself.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMn5TspjRnIyItWEhEDAqT54upljBktjlmMmP1A_yvbmy6fcMMioAda2FdQuzB_3A1Im3On05gICc38TZ4aeh_efYGDh78JiZt_sgDeuCQWo3S_coiin8SZ8zKCp-jroIVc5AgRh0LJ3Pb/s1600/IMAG0510.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 191px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMn5TspjRnIyItWEhEDAqT54upljBktjlmMmP1A_yvbmy6fcMMioAda2FdQuzB_3A1Im3On05gICc38TZ4aeh_efYGDh78JiZt_sgDeuCQWo3S_coiin8SZ8zKCp-jroIVc5AgRh0LJ3Pb/s320/IMAG0510.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646429900189243650" /></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Gather each attached end of the cloth and wrap them with strips from the shirt. I cut the sleeves, horizontally, to make the strips.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5QyGqUOzK5EWFBvjJ8rhLd5BisIPWftaHg3xKv5e6bnDKPkcr4it3h2ivNZVrjnbx9ghq9BbLwwftR_2NFTgzPsrxe2keWC0EecYBW1rR93ETMnX0sqWzFzrh0ppWOZtjNXOP-P7EeBP/s1600/IMAG0511-1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 239px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE5QyGqUOzK5EWFBvjJ8rhLd5BisIPWftaHg3xKv5e6bnDKPkcr4it3h2ivNZVrjnbx9ghq9BbLwwftR_2NFTgzPsrxe2keWC0EecYBW1rR93ETMnX0sqWzFzrh0ppWOZtjNXOP-P7EeBP/s320/IMAG0511-1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646429907297326994" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9cNTRLKF_p31FD6-nvm8dD6cB3ZcPraqvWXTHcvokFLSUNcRIqRaimGa38rMNJ_-up37HZMB6ucO-bViepNRnP7hxNZbQsFsQuT9pRA3KWPc66suBYA4smDDrKrhMqFiYbuv7tZybIN6R/s1600/scarf.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9cNTRLKF_p31FD6-nvm8dD6cB3ZcPraqvWXTHcvokFLSUNcRIqRaimGa38rMNJ_-up37HZMB6ucO-bViepNRnP7hxNZbQsFsQuT9pRA3KWPc66suBYA4smDDrKrhMqFiYbuv7tZybIN6R/s320/scarf.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646435963952854098" /></a> </span></div><div>
<br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">Cut one strip of cloth in the middle and string your beads with a knot in between each one. The holes in my beads were too small to simply string, so I used the safety-pin to poke the material into and through the other end. Tie the remaining ends together to complete the fancy, beaded, part of the scarf.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht9MCAwERGy3zyYwTx3zWKI9tCuOJ7hSGRcgYZNvaAapHFrLSiPT2eNZvY2utKwtYhzmDeo7NjA2mgRr-5k2l_SkIkEJPprIXm7yUfcn1b2hdQVuYYPSUTeGzjHNb-4GVSSSYLEmtBYJ47/s1600/IMAG0513.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht9MCAwERGy3zyYwTx3zWKI9tCuOJ7hSGRcgYZNvaAapHFrLSiPT2eNZvY2utKwtYhzmDeo7NjA2mgRr-5k2l_SkIkEJPprIXm7yUfcn1b2hdQVuYYPSUTeGzjHNb-4GVSSSYLEmtBYJ47/s320/IMAG0513.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646429909459948866" /></a></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Wha</span>-la! You've made yourself a chic, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">upcycled</span> scarf for the fall! Send us pictures and we'll post them! Nomzaran@yahoo.com.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSJkJoI6lyyHJ8WONSGtL0y3DrE3QkW35OmWh_XnmpmrplpJXIg_pdIQ36W0DTNG2-kUhhElPOsy28FrLV6GD7_rT_BWwMOdNvXCsYvmaRN8NiKOJVAqkaSXVzgvi3tYkvWDL0W7hyphenhyphendDp/s1600/IMAG0514.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 191px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSJkJoI6lyyHJ8WONSGtL0y3DrE3QkW35OmWh_XnmpmrplpJXIg_pdIQ36W0DTNG2-kUhhElPOsy28FrLV6GD7_rT_BWwMOdNvXCsYvmaRN8NiKOJVAqkaSXVzgvi3tYkvWDL0W7hyphenhyphendDp/s320/IMAG0514.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5646429914525018978" /></a></span></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSJkJoI6lyyHJ8WONSGtL0y3DrE3QkW35OmWh_XnmpmrplpJXIg_pdIQ36W0DTNG2-kUhhElPOsy28FrLV6GD7_rT_BWwMOdNvXCsYvmaRN8NiKOJVAqkaSXVzgvi3tYkvWDL0W7hyphenhyphendDp/s1600/IMAG0514.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span">
<br /></span></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSJkJoI6lyyHJ8WONSGtL0y3DrE3QkW35OmWh_XnmpmrplpJXIg_pdIQ36W0DTNG2-kUhhElPOsy28FrLV6GD7_rT_BWwMOdNvXCsYvmaRN8NiKOJVAqkaSXVzgvi3tYkvWDL0W7hyphenhyphendDp/s1600/IMAG0514.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><span class="Apple-style-span">Until next time... </span></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBSJkJoI6lyyHJ8WONSGtL0y3DrE3QkW35OmWh_XnmpmrplpJXIg_pdIQ36W0DTNG2-kUhhElPOsy28FrLV6GD7_rT_BWwMOdNvXCsYvmaRN8NiKOJVAqkaSXVzgvi3tYkvWDL0W7hyphenhyphendDp/s1600/IMAG0514.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}">
<br /></a></div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-11457025702092037812011-08-18T07:23:00.011-06:002011-08-18T08:44:45.566-06:00♥365 Days of Change<div style="text-align: center;"><img src="http://1.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_koljc0W81T1qa02gmo1_400.jpg" /></div><div>
<br /></div>Nomz wrote all about what has happened to her this year. Holy cats, it's been a crazy year hasn't it? Feels almost like the stuff she accomplished should've taken longer. But, no, that's my Naomi. She crams all the learning and growing things into 365 days of change. <div>
<br /></div><div>I'd say the same amount of craziness has happened in my life, too. If you take Sazaran from summer of 2010 and hold her up to Sazaran of 2011 you probably would think they're two different people; the former being sort of a gray-scale version of the latter. However, I'm not going to blog about what has happened <i>to</i> me; instead, I'm going to blog about what has happened <i>in</i> me. Because we all know that <b>what happens to you does not necessarily reflect what happens inside of you. </b></div><div><b> </b>
<br /></div><div>- First and foremost, I've learned (am learning) what true love is. I'm being brought back to the basics: love, grace, mercy, time with Jesus. The main character of this life lesson? My husband, Bruce. <i>Didn't see THAT coming, did ya?! </i>He's been a prime example, from day one of the climb towards that sacrificial love that always endures. I'm so happy that I get to do life with him, I wouldn't want to be tethered to anyone else.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjU4J42L7NstfiIcpkSIMta6-u9FtlDTUwGVYGDSlfdtQK9utwasQssJS4NkEJOubMfX-aDlDgZHzPnw06K_1-BsUZrFGEm22bK9a_chBVvfjKowAtclls5UM4ccGieTrwZC2z43Ybkgt/s1600/247273_10150321215154045_751604044_9900538_6413772_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 278px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRjU4J42L7NstfiIcpkSIMta6-u9FtlDTUwGVYGDSlfdtQK9utwasQssJS4NkEJOubMfX-aDlDgZHzPnw06K_1-BsUZrFGEm22bK9a_chBVvfjKowAtclls5UM4ccGieTrwZC2z43Ybkgt/s320/247273_10150321215154045_751604044_9900538_6413772_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642197369831713778" /></a></div><div>
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<br /></div><div>-I've learned to laugh, even when the most logical emotion is the opposite.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>- Just like Nomz, (gosh we're so much alike) I <a href="http://iamsarahmichal.blogspot.com/">branched out with my writing</a> and honed in on that voice speaking inside of me. I took on the challenge of my frequent writer's block and just wrote... a lot. Not even in the blog, but everywhere. Yes, if you're wondering, I'm still offending people with my words. Not intentionally, though. It just happens. I've learned that that part of me might never change. As long as I use it for good and not for evil I don't think I'll employ censor tape.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>- I've learned to discern which bridges need to be burned and which need to be rebuilt. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>- I've been shown the difference between loving people just as they are and knowing that love calls us from victory to victory. Love doesn't allow us to wallow in our old ways, but it challenges us to be new and improved. Still, that love that says, "I'll stick with you and love you for YOU" is an important lesson.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>- I've learned to not forget about my dreams <i>and </i>to pursue them.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>- I'm learning about suffering. And death. And love. And how they all blend to make the most beautiful life-tapestry. I'm learning that the hard way doesn't always have to be seen as the worst way. See? Fireflight knows:</div><div>
<br /></div><div><i>The pressure makes us stronger
<br />The struggle makes us hunger
<br />The hard lessons make the difference
<br />And the difference makes it worth it</i></div><div>
<br /></div><div>- Life comes in full circle, ya know? All the things I never thought I'd personally have to deal with are right back in my life. God's sneaky like that. </div><div>
<br /></div><div></div><div>- I've learned about friendship. What it looks like, what it <i>doesn't</i> look like. Where I need to improve and where I've done a good job. I've learned to let go and/or to cling to, all the while finally realizing that friendship is not a source of "what can I get from this?" but "how can I be <i>your</i> friend, first?" That's a tricky one, let me tell you.
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<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9f6j0-IKGEmhC-1CeliSQ10_tq6of3P5IoW5zsjW8q3Fgo3BeKHskz1F2itApKzNa1QIwp6GFioDjXqSIC0j_DleebSwV0C1wsRgPaICh9vImpOdmkkQ9-7xQLbnWQy9MSrTQBj-LoBr3/s1600/40714_499107060239_678820239_7484293_3074097_n.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9f6j0-IKGEmhC-1CeliSQ10_tq6of3P5IoW5zsjW8q3Fgo3BeKHskz1F2itApKzNa1QIwp6GFioDjXqSIC0j_DleebSwV0C1wsRgPaICh9vImpOdmkkQ9-7xQLbnWQy9MSrTQBj-LoBr3/s320/40714_499107060239_678820239_7484293_3074097_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5642200088339921714" /></a> </div><div>
<br /></div><div>- I'm being called to something higher; to something that scares the crap out of me. And I think this might be the next lesson that I learn: I can do nothing on my own. God shows His funny sense of humor when He uses the foolish things to confound the wise. He calls the weakest people to tackle the biggest tasks. He chooses the most unexpected ways to fulfill His will. I'm part of that unexpected pick, I think. Not even I would have chosen me for what He has planned. And I need to learn to let go and trust. <---- biggest lesson, right there. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>- I've learned that the lessons will never stop presenting themselves. And the choice of <i>when</i> to learn the lesson is up to me. </div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-42622205449377606622011-08-17T12:57:00.003-06:002011-08-17T13:07:47.669-06:00♫ A Dose of NomzTruth me told, Sazaran and I have slacked on this blog. This last year has created HUGE changes in not only this blog, our friendship, but our personal lives as well. We haven't deleted it because our ever faithful readers still check in on us (<span style="font-style: italic;">awwww, you guys! <3)</span>, and we have plans to revive this thing...as it comes to us. Before we can do that, I think we both owe you some updates. I'll start, and then I'll bug Sazaran, and maybe it'll kick off the possible best future blog you could ever fathom. We love writing for you, we adore that you've stuck around waiting for us, and we can't WAIT to turn the lights back on in this place.
<br />
<br />In the last year, Nomz has:
<br />
<br />-Moved from Wyoming to Colorado
<br />-Continued to raise two bouncing baby girls, who are about to enter school (gaspSOB)
<br />-Changed jobs, from Social Marketing Specialist, to Social Marketing Specialist working at an Accounting Firm
<br />-Lost a friend
<br />-Gained 100 friends
<br />-Started another blog: http://ruggedgrace.wordpress.com/
<br />-Joined a non-profit organization called "Colorado Young Farmers"
<br />-<span style="font-style: italic;">Might Possibly </span>have joined the board of directors at another non-profit, it's unapproved and unofficial
<br />-Fell further in love with Brandon, the girls, life...
<br />-Traveled to Boston and Las Vegas, two new places for this girl
<br />-Was in one of my best friends' wedding
<br />-Watched my girls be Flower Girls in said wedding, their first public appearance in tutus!
<br />-Fit BACK into my size 4/6 jeans
<br />-Ran a 5K
<br />-Walked a 5K
<br />-Read over 100 books
<br />
<br />....
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<br />I'm sure there's more. It's been a long year, long day, and my baby starts kindergarten tomorrow, so lemme alone.
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<br />Sazaran and I have changed monumentally this year, as you'll see, but our passion for writing continues and we'll continue to pop in and surprise you with gorgeous words as often as you'll let us.
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<br />While we're waiting for her to jump in on this bandwagon, ...<span style="font-style: italic;">what's the top ten things <span style="font-weight: bold;">you've</span> done while we've been gone?
<br /><span style="font-style: italic;">
<br /></span></span><span style="font-weight: bold;">Yours Truly,</span>
<br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Nomz</span><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;">
<br /></span></span></span></span></span></span>Nomzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086184136443733044noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-28172294577859117322011-05-02T14:55:00.010-06:002011-05-02T17:38:48.152-06:00Free The Girls update!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2uYNzKptcA6Z5NIsDwbuJSjpaZzcDFS4jYxT8KoVPkxNlR_4g9t2p4mt0fq281iqrSP12P8BqGo10TsDmoMlq05PUJfcYpAijlNBzQZFQTLtdcRHjgWYXBd59wauHVNsaqip7EB50klI/s1600/IMG_0630.JPG"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 262px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEik2uYNzKptcA6Z5NIsDwbuJSjpaZzcDFS4jYxT8KoVPkxNlR_4g9t2p4mt0fq281iqrSP12P8BqGo10TsDmoMlq05PUJfcYpAijlNBzQZFQTLtdcRHjgWYXBd59wauHVNsaqip7EB50klI/s320/IMG_0630.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602230312799288258" border="0" /></a><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">Actually, this isn't so much of an update as it is a wrap-up. We wanted you, our awesomely awesome readers to know how many bras we collected, in total.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">With bras trickling in even </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >months</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;"> after we officially stopped taking them, we were able to donate<span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"> 376 </span>bras to Free The Girls! </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >{And I don't think we even collected bras from other drop-off points! Am I right, Wyomingwildrose?} </span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">This is amazing, people! I don't think we can clearly express just how much this will help those victims who have been rescued from modern-day slavery, who are yet to be rescued and who help with the rescuing. The impact we've made on these people will ripple out and bring so much healing and new life to others. And you helped do it! Bravo to you!!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">I (Sazaran) had the chance to meet Kimba, the co-founder of FTG, and talk to her a little bit about what's to come. She informed me that they're well on their way to becoming a non-profit organization which means they'll be able to accept monetary donations as well as bras. They've also had businesses from Denver partner with them and are planning new ways to actually get the bras to Africa.</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">It just gives you a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, don't it? :)</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">SO. With that being said, let's keep in mind that there's still so much to do. Human trafficking is a tangled mess of evil that won't easily be squashed. What can you/we still do to keep the efforts of Kimba and countless other fueled? </span></span><span style="font-style: italic;font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" >Well</span><span style="font-size:100%;"><span style="font-family:georgia;">...</span><br /><br /></span><span style=";font-family:georgia;font-size:100%;" ><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">* Buy the really cute, really stylish shirts that Free The Girls is selling <a href="http://freethegirls.com/shop">here</a>. Ten percent of the profits go directly toward releasing the captives and putting their captors behind bars. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">* Give bras! Duh! Even though our blogging has slowed and we no longer have drop-boxes in public places, <span style="font-weight: bold;">we'll still be more than happy if you want to hand over your braziers for the greater good. </span><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">* If you don't have bras or have a hoarding problem, you can donate your money to Free the Girls <a href="http://freethegirls.com/donate">here</a>. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">* Spread the word. Word of mouth is really important for Free the Girls right now because the less money they spend on promoting, the more money they can use toward freeing victims.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">* Pray. Pray for the women who have been taken; pray that their hope will remain confident in that we are </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">looking for them</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">. Pray that </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span">Kimba</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span"><span class="Apple-style-span"> and Mama T are strengthened and can continue in this amazing cause without discouragement or stress. Pray that the men (and women, because some of them are involved, too) who commit this horrible act against humanity will realize what they're doing and STOP. </span></span></div></span><span style="font-size:100%;"><br /><span style="font-family:georgia;">To end in an upbeat style, check out these pictures of our journey to free the girls!</span></span><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPUudJKvpR8XX9gOzjgiuBoHkRYQ1QOpnAIVOjvAg69tKeJidk6qKa9xxyiNY1223ofXSY3TpMV_aXya5XVzltV763AEI6J9n8BEBmaGJoskRR8w5VUsO9pYOBZ0w9A3_qApi77OE94hB/s1600/bras+for+a+cause.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMPUudJKvpR8XX9gOzjgiuBoHkRYQ1QOpnAIVOjvAg69tKeJidk6qKa9xxyiNY1223ofXSY3TpMV_aXya5XVzltV763AEI6J9n8BEBmaGJoskRR8w5VUsO9pYOBZ0w9A3_qApi77OE94hB/s320/bras+for+a+cause.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521997633603754082" border="0" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNPTUrQL-H1uIMaLyLjaqSAamOGaxzKpjnNggYOjzgBMn-Oavk_nFzMvb6meKDgOMtnBT9naZSjAHnHyRsOVPbSDEuYXMUQPp03oCQFk_ukLuyiWAtWvRhBEusgrEbvb3-U8IFRutgwmO/s1600/brasforacause2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNPTUrQL-H1uIMaLyLjaqSAamOGaxzKpjnNggYOjzgBMn-Oavk_nFzMvb6meKDgOMtnBT9naZSjAHnHyRsOVPbSDEuYXMUQPp03oCQFk_ukLuyiWAtWvRhBEusgrEbvb3-U8IFRutgwmO/s320/brasforacause2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521997629054905282" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;">Ashley! donated her talent to make us this awesome sign for our bra box. Isn't it pretty?!</span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxLTstxYXUuHgc0WaBvIQXR-5fi2SmozRC0buG_4UZnSMpJUmTsfxN0iJPopIfkAXRzC2NfCS0yxeS40loMihotyrSH_AfNlLC03cBLJufLs1B3KGLsEhId98jpMR6QCjyxy0fRL-BJdW/s1600/FTG2.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmxLTstxYXUuHgc0WaBvIQXR-5fi2SmozRC0buG_4UZnSMpJUmTsfxN0iJPopIfkAXRzC2NfCS0yxeS40loMihotyrSH_AfNlLC03cBLJufLs1B3KGLsEhId98jpMR6QCjyxy0fRL-BJdW/s320/FTG2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521997622282522610" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size:100%;"><b>A HUGE thank you to Rylee from Cheyenne's News Channel 5 (and Sazaran's fiance, Bruce, for his awesomerest connections) for helping us spread the word about Free the Girls!</b></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSvPqwQMLRpiY94nS2H4fu8qvQj37x9TjXauOQbhM0VgUlqE4LNECLcad08nIJJqHKpJK-5EG58gcXP6nD3g00C0LHheDXJm11Onv8XSflxaguQXoata6fU6-YpMfPiZaAwoe1m8FzNLnj/s320/brasinterview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521999595981048770" border="0" /><div style="text-align: center;">Sarah: "We should totally wear these on the <i>outside</i> of our shirts for the interview."</div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Camera guy: "Please, no."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi94l0wbz5hMbotVBRpaOIh6oVxQJZq1VkG83iPGqO4D8VhupDxxYyhqPSJUY7i4GgXxSNE4a0yvRHqeeSI81ePAUqR0BHEKkSRkAX-OPKhWykxzIujdjmoL7DCUMLIeuHxRZ9HWL_wa3K3/s1600/FTG1.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi94l0wbz5hMbotVBRpaOIh6oVxQJZq1VkG83iPGqO4D8VhupDxxYyhqPSJUY7i4GgXxSNE4a0yvRHqeeSI81ePAUqR0BHEKkSRkAX-OPKhWykxzIujdjmoL7DCUMLIeuHxRZ9HWL_wa3K3/s320/FTG1.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521997618207371858" border="0" /></a></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDWaE7ks6ojmnF5CE8nAgOv-KGhF0ePyVQr7SySSO5kC1bQMMTqCBZPwA8sM-QW6URMaUtH9vxd-9_wLs36045LLBa4eqtiiRQqEGZqrxUCKcgL8CRMMp2RUmVMbBuL_-yeskOF4AY2rn/s1600/RJsavethegirls.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicDWaE7ks6ojmnF5CE8nAgOv-KGhF0ePyVQr7SySSO5kC1bQMMTqCBZPwA8sM-QW6URMaUtH9vxd-9_wLs36045LLBa4eqtiiRQqEGZqrxUCKcgL8CRMMp2RUmVMbBuL_-yeskOF4AY2rn/s320/RJsavethegirls.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521999613802710082" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">If you're wondering, YES, the ladies of RJ do get hit on. No, these are not their bras.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"> <b>They're Nomz's bras. Heh. :)</b></div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSToQFME2d5JlAq5Dl7-suFSThvTVAdOA0sRvguzcFohsKccJv4005Kq2Yi2NBLSz7THVbMEunsIBicpDf4rCVHmLwc66YUIg1KMjcOLvntuVhebZC4eH1Tfhj_nHVY6IulttDfe20eTS/s1600/RJsecret.jpg"></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSToQFME2d5JlAq5Dl7-suFSThvTVAdOA0sRvguzcFohsKccJv4005Kq2Yi2NBLSz7THVbMEunsIBicpDf4rCVHmLwc66YUIg1KMjcOLvntuVhebZC4eH1Tfhj_nHVY6IulttDfe20eTS/s1600/RJsecret.jpg"><img style="text-align: left; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVSToQFME2d5JlAq5Dl7-suFSThvTVAdOA0sRvguzcFohsKccJv4005Kq2Yi2NBLSz7THVbMEunsIBicpDf4rCVHmLwc66YUIg1KMjcOLvntuVhebZC4eH1Tfhj_nHVY6IulttDfe20eTS/s320/RJsecret.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521999611065741570" border="0" /></a><div style="text-align: center;">Sorry ladies, Jay is married. :)</div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFolBTsAbM3WLgbDL-5rf-6sFkO6Yd954ODoOese6avtdobeukNBQpLAdvy0ZSkzJ0HnE1E1SkzNgZlfXCIupu7iaezq9u9CwUpvbqVo418hosXo5ajRUB1NX7dp3mNYGtSmQjbN9PDHd/s1600/RJbrasforacause.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFolBTsAbM3WLgbDL-5rf-6sFkO6Yd954ODoOese6avtdobeukNBQpLAdvy0ZSkzJ0HnE1E1SkzNgZlfXCIupu7iaezq9u9CwUpvbqVo418hosXo5ajRUB1NX7dp3mNYGtSmQjbN9PDHd/s320/RJbrasforacause.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5521999599525818818" border="0" /></a><br /><br />We want to give huge-mongous <span style="font-style: italic;">Thank you</span>s to:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Channel News 5</span> for highlighting the story and helping us raise our voices<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Jay</span> for his awesome attitude and willingness to hop right in and support our efforts.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ruby Juice </span>for being the main avenue for donations (I think they should have kept the bras for decoration, but that's just me).<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Each and every soul<span style="font-style: italic;"> </span></span>who chose to donate new, used and gently used bras. You made the difference. And we love your faces for it.<br /><br /><3 Nomz and Sazaran<br /><br /><br /></div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-69378261174712228572011-03-10T20:37:00.004-07:002011-03-10T21:02:26.636-07:00♫ Stay Out of Your Way<strong>“To be yourself in a world that is constantly trying to make you something else is the greatest accomplishment.”— Ralph Waldo Emerson</strong><br /><br />My heart hurts. <br /><br />It's been a day of conflict. And what hurts the most, is that not a single bit of it was with me. I just had to sit and watch the pain happen. I was sitting at work today, getting dizzy, watching two friends destroy each other with venomous thoughts.<br /><br />As if watching a movie, I chose to rewind. I thought back on the last few months, and how much I've shed tears for broken friends, lost sleep over torn family, and emailed until my fingers were exhausted - resolving or creating conflict. <br /><br />It's not one person that's always involved. It's every single person that I know...hurting. I hear a lot of excuses. I give a lot of excuses. ...<br /><br /><i>She's selfish. He's always been mean, I've just run out of patience. Money is too tight to fix things. She won't learn from her mistakes. I'm facing a life-change, and can't deal with it. It's his fault. It's his job. My kids are naughty. She's gotten so self, and boy, absorbed. She always has an excuse. He loves somebody else more than me. He won't leave his dream for mine. She's quick to judge, but refuses to see herself truly. He's clingy. My job is too hard.</i><br /><br />It's ironic how when we're absolutely unhappy, we immediately turn to blame somebody else, isn't it? We never find ourselves to blame for our own unhappiness, but we're quick to boast how we found our destiny. Our love. Our joy. All the good. <br /><br />"For every second that we are angry, we lose a second of happiness."<br />"Bitterness is a symptom of emotional failure."<br />"In life, don't always wait for someone to come along and fix whats wrong. Sometimes, you just have to be your own hero/"<br /><br />To find happiness and balance, we've got to find it in ourselves, by ourselves, accepting full responsibility for our choices, emotions, and actions. To find your place in this world, you've got to pick your path all on your own. To find a sense of belonging, listen to your heart. <i>Your heart.</i><br /><br />To find your way, you've got to get out of your way.<br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />NomzNomzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086184136443733044noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-36691055141607716922011-02-19T13:46:00.007-07:002011-02-19T14:22:59.513-07:00♫ Toddler Trouble: Episode 987651<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3N-qYQUsMYW0-gqy5MyMaoGT7zuzCyhoHAcFX0aLOxeDv3u3BBAZ_Px5fiVWq7bYEoPalxk2S_42IM1vmovvZKQW_CmsvOACxwQaXh9WKKxwTVJizpbTyGEzv_MIfpAvP2JBPe9qLH3U/s1600/336.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 282px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3N-qYQUsMYW0-gqy5MyMaoGT7zuzCyhoHAcFX0aLOxeDv3u3BBAZ_Px5fiVWq7bYEoPalxk2S_42IM1vmovvZKQW_CmsvOACxwQaXh9WKKxwTVJizpbTyGEzv_MIfpAvP2JBPe9qLH3U/s400/336.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5575512283194409858" /></a><br /><br />Sometimes, having toddlers make me want to act like one. Obtain a mental picture of me stomping around in a gigantic circle, pulling my hair, and huffing as loudly as possible when things don't go my way. It may look silly in your head, but me, I'm winning our little game.<br /><br />Being a mom of <i>two</i> toddlers, I am blessed to be challenged with something new every single day. I face those challenges with the outlook that I can <i>love</i> them through all of it. There is <u>nothing</u> that a little love can't cure. Of course, sometimes love means punishment, but in our house, that's a rare necessity. I have good kids. The toddler I had you mentally picture above was more me actually, than them. I've never seen them throw a rager like some kids. I'm challenged though, like any other mom. And I've officially become stumped.<br /><br />I've become stumped over something ridiculously simple, probably. All the more reason for there to be epic comments telling me how silly I'm being, and how to fix this little issue of mine. Call me hysterical if you want, <i>but please help me before I get my huff-face on again</i>. <br /><br />My girls are five and four. And while I have a goal of us all sitting around the dinner table every night together as a family, our busy schedules rarely allow it. Perhaps the best solution. Regardless of the table, they get dinner every night (<i>I get props for THAT, right?!</i>). And it's rare that they argue about what I put in front of them. Willing to at least try what I've attempted, for fear I'll make them eat it at the next meal, and the next, and the next until they like it (<i>ah hem, thank you Alicia, for THAT brilliance</i>). <br /><br /><strong>BUT</strong>...they take AN HOUR AND A HALF to finish <i>anything</i> put in front of them! They get to giggling and carrying on, or crying out of exhausting, that they refuse to eat at a decent pace. <br /><br />I know I'm not alone in this, and I know it's normal...because I did it. And my parents solved it by putting a timer on the table. When the timer was up, we lost out on dinner. Period. Because I hated that rule SO MUCH when I was small, I'm being stubborn and refusing to try the method. But, times are desperate. I want my kids to have healthy meals, and finish them in a timely manner, and if I have to (<strong><i>*big gulp*</i></strong>), I'll try the timer plan. <br /><br />First though, what would you do if you were me? If I sat you down with a pair of giggling turtles, and asked you to make them eat at a comfortable pace...how would you light the fire? How would you encourage them to get-a-move-on? Or perhaps I'm overreacting, and I should encourage them to eat at their own pace. It's only bedtime and playtime we're putting off, after all. Maybe, just maybe, this is the universe saying <i>"Grow yourself some patience, mama bear."</i><br /><br />Frustrated mama.<br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />NomzNomzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086184136443733044noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-81358535753186153382011-02-15T22:28:00.008-07:002011-02-16T20:09:29.711-07:00MUST LOVE BLOGS<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtWdNzcELqc-ycInd62Sk-KCtJenDDhluqL5eUnr6vHrQ_PissLpM71r3nacPBgxrrwTPEVXsIABKUenjy4Nly-I5AcrOIT1MgKlsjTh5a5NX7R4gvoTB0illcQZMEeqCnGwlgB7ztAIB2/s1600/ithinkiblog.jpg"><img style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 161px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtWdNzcELqc-ycInd62Sk-KCtJenDDhluqL5eUnr6vHrQ_PissLpM71r3nacPBgxrrwTPEVXsIABKUenjy4Nly-I5AcrOIT1MgKlsjTh5a5NX7R4gvoTB0illcQZMEeqCnGwlgB7ztAIB2/s320/ithinkiblog.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574156717242180562" border="0" /></a><br />Ever thought of having a blog? Today they’re a dime a dozen and you can find someone’s posted thoughts on any topic ever imagined. Literally. There are some pretty weird blogs out there; there are also some pretty amazing, hilarious, inspiring and creatively unique blogs out there. Here are some tips that Nomz and I have put together for your reference:<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Must Love Writing</span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> As </span>said above, blogs are everywhere and almost everyone has tried their hand at blogging. But, we really think it takes someone who really loves writing to have a successful blog. And you can tell when someone who doesn’t really have a personal relationship with their dictionary/thesaurus tries to put their thoughts into words. Yes, yes you can. So, please, love writing. It’s so much more fun that way.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Accept Critique Gracefully</span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Nomz and I are far from being professional bloggers and Lord knows we have so much to learn (and remember) about this gig; the trick is to pick and choose each bit of advice and criticism that people freely hand over. There has been more than one occasion where a friend or stranger shared their opinion of our posts- sometimes we took it to heart, discussed it or just put it on the shelf to collect pretty particles of dust. The key is to discern whether someone is being genuine or critical in a negative way and then to figure out how to apply it (or not) to your writing. Remember: A blog is personal, but making it too personal can leave you exposed for people to attack.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Ignore the “Anonymous” Nay-Sayers</span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>This one could go for both Life in general and any type of blog you attempt. They’ll always be there with their clouds of doom and negativity. Ignore them. Love your writing, anyway; be passionate, anyway; tell the truth, anyway; stand up for yourself, anyway.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Add Your Own Touch</span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>With how diverse our gorgeous world is, there will never be enough information to cover or too many stories to tell. But, all these things can be told in a boring and blasé way. If you want to blog about your cat, your job or your bad habits then, please, be creative! Or no one will care and no one will read. Don’t be afraid to be different, you're speaking to a really loud room, most saying all the same things- stand out or fail. Our touch? It seems to be Random Thoughts, doesn't it? That sort of just <span style="font-style: italic;">evolved</span>.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">PICTURES, PICTURES, PICTURES</span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>There’s a reason why we usually put a picture at the beginning of our posts- they capture imagination and create a mental foundation for the rest of the read.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Keep A Journal, Be Consistent</span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>These two go together, we feel, because they depend on each other. Nomz and I both have scads of journals that we’re constantly scribbling notes, quotes and inspiration in. Without a piece of paper to write your blogging ideas about, you’ll never remember because something else will grab your attention. A journal will allow you to pace your writing and hash out ideas for posts; consistency is important if you want to maintain interest.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Know Your Stuff</span><br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span>Be researched if you plan on *sounding* researched. Chances are somebody is already an expert. Also, it will help to have some HTML knowledge, some technical background will help you rank on Google and get unique visitors to your blog, not just your loyal army of friends and family. <--- This is allll Nomz’s area of specialty. And <i>thank God</i> for her! <div><div><br /></div><div><b>Scrap It All</b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space: pre;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;">OR, you can ignore everything we've just said and blog for <i>you!</i> If writing helps release anxiety; if you don't really care who reads your stuff or if anyone does at all or if what need to do is write or die... then, by all means, spill your happy heart out! We'll cheer for you and if you send us a link we may read your stuff every now and then! </span><br /></b> </div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-weight: normal;"><br /></span></b></div><div>So, there it is folks! Our little tips on having a blog that you can be proud of. We’re still small news compared to some amazing blogs out there, but we LOVE our Daily Offensive!!<br /><div><br /></div><div>Here are some blogs we adore and have learned our secrets from: <div><br /></div><div><a href="http://thebloggess.com/">The Bloggess</a><br /><a href="http://beastybeast.blogspot.com/">i heart things and things</a><br /><a href="http://hisnewdirections.blogspot.com/">New Directions</a><br /><a href="http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/">Hyperbole and a Half</a><br /><a href="http://remarkablytypical.wordpress.com/">Remarkably Typical</a><a href="http://calamityjill.com/"></a><br /><a href="http://calamityjill.com/">Calamity Jill</a><br /><a href="http://whisperingwriter.blogspot.com/">Airing My Dirty Laundry, One Sock At A Time</a><br /><a href="http://www.thediynearlywed.com/">The DIY Nearlywed</a><br /><br /><br /></div></div></div></div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-33669535096896627312011-02-11T16:11:00.004-07:002011-02-11T16:39:21.242-07:00♫ Drought...Watered.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7BKj_OtTu9BHv1lEwjGTXtUJm_qKE4ls4nthya2j8E1LV_jrGoXO2mVvlWaIepTypti59rXsoNfyRLP1M3HK36f6C5xNS236y_HBB14U4lZo9PPIxJds85mmS48Eh8PLUuu9WLtgEDEM/s1600/laugh-Emerson.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 317px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7BKj_OtTu9BHv1lEwjGTXtUJm_qKE4ls4nthya2j8E1LV_jrGoXO2mVvlWaIepTypti59rXsoNfyRLP1M3HK36f6C5xNS236y_HBB14U4lZo9PPIxJds85mmS48Eh8PLUuu9WLtgEDEM/s320/laugh-Emerson.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572579605475888690" /></a><br /><br />Rumor has it, it's been <i>months</i> since I've blogged. A bit of a word-drought, if you will. And not so much for lack of things to say, but lack of time to be playing on the internet. Don't you worry, I've got an entire notebook full of hand-written blogs waiting to be posted for your lovely eyes. <br /><br />So. Here we are, a fairly peaceful Friday afternoon. I'm sick, my oldest daughter is sick, my boxer puppy is sleeping next to me (<i>snoring ferociously</i>), and my sister is on her way with icecream to help us all feel better. My house is so clean, my ceiling fan has been bleached and my carpets are standing on end. The afternoon sun is cuddling up with us in my living room, promising to stick around for the next five days or so. <br /><br />Trust me w hen I say my lack of time on the internet isn't personal. Well, I mean it's not offensive. It's definitely personal. My personal life is severely interfering with my internet life. Listed below, is just a glimpse of my "right now"...<br /><br />*My girls are at a point in their life where their personalities are fighting to prove themselves unique. Sassyfrass and looptyloo have been recent nicknames for them, both constantly making me laugh, reminding me to be grateful for what I've got, and how fast life happens. I have yet to hit a stage of their little ages that I can't love them through, and I can't wait to see what 2011 brings us.<br /><br />*My guy. I could mush all day about him, but Sazaran recently gushed and I don't want the blog to throw up from overexposure. Let's just say this...Brandon couldn't be a better man for my girls to admire, a better life partner for me to stand next to, or a more honest, harder working man, pushing us all to be a better version of ourselves. He is my strength lately, nursing us all back to health, and my best friend. <br /><br />*My friends. I moved fairly recently, and miss most of my friends sorely. I have yet to bond with anybody down here like I did at home, and there are days it pangs me not to be there any longer. That being said, it proves that we are the best kind of friends, because even with the longer distance between us, we're growing stronger, finding opportunities to bust out the camera or spontaneous road trip, chickflick'ing our way through the weekends, and emailing/texting/using technology every hour of every day. It's a lot harder to keep relationships up from a distance, but it's absolutely worth the growth that happens because of it.<br /><br />*My job. Like any normal job, there are good days and bad days. But I couldn't have been luckier finding coworkers that understand that, and a boss that is flexible around me having kids, a life outside of work, and stresses of life that are out of my control. I <i>do</i> work for an accountant though, and it's tax season, so don't expect the blogs to pick up <i>too</i> much. Also note: <strong>don't piss off your accountant ever. But if you do, don't make it during tax season.</strong><i>Bribery is also suggested.</i><br /><br />*My family. My family consists of a lot of people. Blood related, and love related. I'm learning, still, that family isn't just the ones that have your DNA, but also the ones that will jump at a moment's notice to save you, your kids, your dogs, or your house (<i>from you, obv</i>). The ones that call regularly, and email when you send out an SOS tweet or text. Family matters more than anything in the world, and I can't stress enough how grateful I am that you're <strong>all</strong> in my life. <br /><br />Speaking of, my lovely sister just strode into my home, icecream in hand. Gorgeous as always, and just getting off babysitting duty, she attempted to remove a banana from my shirt forgetting that I'm not the one year old she's been attending all week. For the record, I do not have a banana on my shirt, it's just a decoration. But if I were one, I'd be taken care of. See? Family. <3<br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />NomzNomzhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04086184136443733044noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-61029206564809381452011-02-07T13:28:00.007-07:002011-02-07T16:17:54.985-07:00♥ Me+Him<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyMgswXijD_muasmscNYtLiulg2q2twn7cehaVbyV4GNPjxQBSLZ2gSMHMtvZk4MiqWJX69Mr_9IFIhRz0jTXhMhiysq0n31Q5P-XWvhaTp_eMownNa9iRwa4sMMoCoBQk_qx7J_OuyX4/s1600/love.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 213px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnyMgswXijD_muasmscNYtLiulg2q2twn7cehaVbyV4GNPjxQBSLZ2gSMHMtvZk4MiqWJX69Mr_9IFIhRz0jTXhMhiysq0n31Q5P-XWvhaTp_eMownNa9iRwa4sMMoCoBQk_qx7J_OuyX4/s320/love.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5571070705419112482" /></a>
<br />Remember, a while back, when I provided a <a href="http://dailyoffensive.blogspot.com/2009/12/list.html">list</a> of requirements for all potential applicants of Mr. Right? Just as soon as that blog was posted, I immediately folded up the invisible paper, stained with invisible words, and shoved it into the deepest part of the smallest drawer in the back of my heart. It was there, I could feel it, but I always thought, "This is a nice little list. Too bad I'll probably have to settle to be as close to happy as I dream of being."<div>
<br /></div><div>And I'm sure God heard my little heart-sigh and had to give a chuckle. If only I knew who He had in mind for my very near future. 379 days into the future, to be exact, Mr. Right himself took center-stage of my life. This love of mine has not only pin-pointed every requirement, he has gone beyond into the "hoped for but not spoken" requests that had added themselves to my list.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>I can tell you that I have never felt this loved, protected and cherished by any one person in my 26 years of living. I've never been held so close in such a respectful and honored way. I have never felt loved enough to be able to share even the parts of myself that I'm not proud of. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>Enter thought: God does waaaaay better than any online dating service ever could. </div><div>There has not been one day that he has not made me crack up over and over. </div><div>He talks me through even the muckiest of feelings. </div><div>His small notes and texts of sweet nothings are such effective ways of saying, "I'm still thinking about you." </div><div>Can you see his heart from where you are? It's seriously that big.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>Little thoughts flutter in and out of my heart each day. Thoughts like, "That love song totally fits us." or "I'm so glad it's him. No one else could've been perfect enough." And I know that these thoughts will continue to invade my thinking-space, because I know we'll always put each other and this love we're cultivating before any earthly thing.</div><div>
<br /></div><div>And each time you see me post a HAPPYSIGH, you'll know that he is solely responsible for my new home called Cloud Ten.</div><div>
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<br /></div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-35140836421351785722011-01-27T16:03:00.003-07:002011-01-27T16:15:15.707-07:00** 106 Days<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">YAY! We have our first Guest Blogger of 2011! Read along and provide your input. But most of all- enjoy! And if you'd like to submit your own guest blog, email us at nomzaran@yahoo.com. -Sazaran and Nomz</span></b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So, can I just take a second to gush about married life? Because I love it. Adore it. Would MARRY married life, it's that good.<br /><br />Even though I'm still effing up my signature, making the "i" and "t" in my last name nearly the same height; and the first time I verbally introduced myself with my married last name, I literally had to stop for a second to think about what my last name </span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">was</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">— there's not much to complain about.<br /><br />You'd think after dating 11 years and living in sin for more than half of that, not a lot would change post-</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I-do</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">'s, but I swear to the stars—there's this completely different glow to everything, like it's all been made new because we're </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">married</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> now. We're legitimately our own little family, writing the newest chapter of our lives with every red-light kiss and mid-week date night, and the mornings we send each other off to work with, "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Love you, husband!" "Love you, my wife!</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br />Our life is this</span></span><span style="font-family:Georgia; mso-bidi-font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">— </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">we burned a CD full of Simon & Garfunkel (</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"Song for the Aski," "The Only Living Boy in New York," "The Boxer," "America"</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">) as our soundtrack to a winter-lit weekend afternoon in Colorado; and our fridge is topped with Fruity Pebbles, a basket full of tea, the lidded glass jar that holds treats for the Faces (</span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">our cats</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">), and the empty alcohol bottle from my husband’s bachelor party with the colorful owl print on the back.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">The mornings start with iPod serenades, and he randomly calls me in the middle of the day at work just to tell me a story about a customer, or how—Wednesday, actually—he had 200°F+ oil shoot out at him from a truck he was working on, and (</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I quote</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">) I missed him "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">screaming like a little girl, then turning around and running face-first into the tire of a truck on the lift next to me. Yeah. I fell</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">. </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">And then screamed some more.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Yesterday morning, he bit my neck, and as I watched the telltale red mark appear in the mirror, he waved it away with, "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">If anyone asks? Just tell them I went all Team Edward on you.</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It's just—married life is comfortable, in the best and truest sense.<br />It fits us so well. It's pure, and beautiful and exciting, and I'm fully loving every second of it.<br /><br />106 days I've been married, and since the moment I began to take on the world as a Mrs., I've been asked, "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">So, how's the married life</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">?" about as many times as there have been days of it.<br />& every time, I get my glow on, happily replying with some variation of, "</span><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">It's amazing, I love it!</span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"—only to get a knowing chuckle or Look in response, followed by, "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I'll ask you again in a year</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">!"<br /><br />Is that really the magic, unspoken timeline? A year?<br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Does this newlywed glow—the sparkle I feel when I see my Facebook relationship status as “</span><b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Married</span></i></b><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> to,</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">” or the cozy feeling of looking at my husband (</span><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">!!!</span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">) snuggled next to me and the Faces tucked in between us, thinking, "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">This is our family</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"—does it come with an expiration date?</span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Are we doomed, 365 pages in, to shed our happiness & joy in favor of matrimonial monotony?<br /><br />I hear "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I'll ask you again in a year,</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">" and wonder why it's such a feat to imagine that, a year from now or even 50, we—not to mention any other pair of newly-minted newlyweds—won't still be just as thrilled to be married. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Why would be any less in love, just because "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">that's what happens</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">," or because it happened to someone else?<br /><br />I look at these people who ask about my marriage (</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">which, for the record? makes me feel oddly adult to say; "my marriage"</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">)—these people nearly always being well-meaning, long-married people—and in the space between The Question and their humorless chuckles that follow, I wonder what </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">their</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> marriage is like; what makes them assume I'm just cresting the top of this mountain in my life, admiring the view, so blinded by the glow of my sparkler that I fail to notice a bottomless pit of despair around the next bend?<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I saw the same thing when I was planning our wedding, and even now when I talk to newly-sparkled friends; it's so rare to find a former bride who doesn't immediately default to, "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">GOD, it was so stressful; I'm just glad it's over</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">," when dispensing advice about wedding planning.<br />On the opposite end, there's me, this radiating ball of joy that wants to know all about people's wedding colors & invitation designs, asking about how the bride-to-be's feeling (</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">because seriously? </span><u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">no one </span></u><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">does this—it's always, "How's the </span></em><strong><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">planning</span></i></strong><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> going?", never, "How are </span></em><strong><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">you</span></i></strong><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> doing?</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">") and what style of dress she's dreaming about.<br /><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">To each their own; I just never understand why, rather than chiming in with something positive, people always go straight for the dark & twisty.</span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><o:p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> </span></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Rationally, it all boils down to the fact that people only can speak to their particular experience, but it begs the question— is everyone really in such a lackluster state that they can't share any enthusiasm, rather than passive-aggressive caution, about being forever entwined with their one, only and always?<br /><br />It's these people—the ones who tell me, "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I'll ask you again in a year</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">," that I honestly </span><strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">do</span></strong><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> hope we run into again in the next 365— because a year from now, I know I'm going to have even more of a glow when I tell them how amazing it is that marriage just keeps getting better.<br />I know now, just like I did at 14, when people "knew" we'd break up as soon as we got to high school; just like I did at 18, when my sociology teacher informed </span><span class="il"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">me</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"> that "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">there's no way we could last after graduation, no matter how happy we were</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">," because he & I were just "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">too different</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">"; just like I did at 22, when everyone "knew" we could never work things out— I know that our love isn't their love.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">They don't know what it's like to live this life of ours; one we've built of barefoot kitchen dances, big dreams about Southern porches & sprawling garages, and the intricacies of having literally grown up together.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">One we've peppered with our own vocabulary of words that don't make sense to anyone but us, and spun through with "</span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">Wish You Were Here</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">," lakeside ice cream, dusty roads in the middle of summer and </span><em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">I-love-you</span></em><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;">'s every night.<br /><br />So, yes— ask me again in a year.</span><o:p></o:p></span></p> <!--EndFragment-->Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-65846910077029619462011-01-21T10:48:00.005-07:002011-01-21T13:29:29.626-07:00♥Observations.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3H5_VGzEBVJfhzXPT3Y9T5uwv-VB2CVSbHtNQmJeV5vYYVjzj1C_Hte4vYb74o_qhs_knGfT7Xkp4izN0Nadbu8Tb-7UGTL_gyuGDFjYON3bjYkA0hZkJtPXSwY6pVx9fH86fPU56nh4L/s1600/observances.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3H5_VGzEBVJfhzXPT3Y9T5uwv-VB2CVSbHtNQmJeV5vYYVjzj1C_Hte4vYb74o_qhs_knGfT7Xkp4izN0Nadbu8Tb-7UGTL_gyuGDFjYON3bjYkA0hZkJtPXSwY6pVx9fH86fPU56nh4L/s320/observances.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5564714232144143666" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Ever notice how absolutely surrounded (pun intended) by boundaries we are? They're everywhere: lines on the road, stop signs, speed limits, gates and fences, aisles, laws. All put in place to remind us of our place. I hated boundaries for a while and I did everything I could to intentionally step over them; proving that no one could control me. Know what I've learned? </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Boundaries are not a bad thing.</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> They're actually meant to help us and keep us from danger. They're meant to guide us and keep us from regret. Boundaries don't have to be fun, but they will facilitate more fun than violating them will. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I've noticed a few of my own different heart-changes here and there. God has been really working on me (& that whole black and white thing I bragged about) recently. Not that my heart was wrong, but it wasn't right either. I'm totally okay with this kind of change. Anything that works in me a softer heart, bent toward loving others (in Truth) is something I'll surrender to. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Speaking of... I believe with everything that is in me that if someone is seeking Truth (capital T) they will find it. Others? The truth (little t) they're seeking is actually just a new version of comfort- something that will fit their schedule, their opinion, their preference. Truth doesn't make you comfortable; it draws you out of your over-stuffed Lazy-Boy and requires that you use more than just your logic to believe it. It doesn't conform to YOU, YOU conform to it. Which is why it's superior to opinion or preference. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Brokenness is not a gentle sort of thing. It requires a violent dying to self and a desperate thirst for an in-pouring of the Holy Spirit which can only be quenched by unutterable <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">groanings</span> and hours of weeping at the feet of Jesus. Brokenness is kin to suffering and sorrow; one cannot be obtained without the other. Yet, it is a thing of glory. For in it we take on the image of Christ and are able to be made whole… from brokenness. </span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; font-size:small;">God cannot be contained in a box. He just can't be. And anyone who tries to put him in a six-sided encasement is ignorant and is probably trying to stuff an idol in there, not the Creator of the Universe. Just <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">sayin</span>'.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:'times new roman';"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 16px; font-size:small;">The thing from before that I thought was Love? It wasn't really Love. It was self-serving and perverted. Love doesn't seek its own benefit; it doesn't use others to satisfy itself. So then what is the opposite of Love? Some would say Hate and I'd have to agree on that, but I also think that Self is <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Hate's</span> counterpart and therefore also the opposite of Love. Self's sacrifice is an illusion meant to look, feel and sound like Love. But Self and Love are two entirely different creatures that are easily confused. The things is: when you finally find and act out true Love, you know the difference immediately. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" color: rgb(51, 51, 51); line-height: 16px; font-family:'lucida grande', tahoma, verdana, arial, sans-serif;font-size:11px;"><br /></span></div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-46118423077231689172011-01-17T10:56:00.006-07:002011-01-17T15:06:43.536-07:00♥I am woman.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg44zTOP8uTpNy6QnMUluBIHfVBZ2l7gvC0euADCx78Qgsb32fcBS4pqx05BhsbpeZUd1Ge6-hTptk_mrH6_H1ONSCQQJQVw9zVV_7zkXcvXkLyXZC7OcysS7hqHeLkHRnC85Ev1Zzt5xQ8/s1600/iamwoman.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 214px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg44zTOP8uTpNy6QnMUluBIHfVBZ2l7gvC0euADCx78Qgsb32fcBS4pqx05BhsbpeZUd1Ge6-hTptk_mrH6_H1ONSCQQJQVw9zVV_7zkXcvXkLyXZC7OcysS7hqHeLkHRnC85Ev1Zzt5xQ8/s320/iamwoman.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5563278758580713794" /></a><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm the woman that has all the other women wrapped up into one:<br /><br />The business woman with her goals screwed on straight. Who isn't intimidated by outside forces beyond her control. The woman who grabs life by the you-know-whats and doesn't let go until she gets what she wants. <-- I'm 2% her. </span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I want to be the homemaker that takes pride in her clean living-room and doesn't mind wearing those new heels while vacuuming the halls. The woman that sees the feminist and pities her for her lack of domestic desire. Her entire world is her family and she lives to feed and dress them well. <--- I'm 10% her. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">That 50's housewife gets old. Fast. I want to have the fire, the passion, to burn my bra and proudly walk the streets with squared shoulders and an "I can do anything you can do." attitude. Her strength is envious; her independence is unmatched. <--- I am 8% her. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Then there's Mother Theresa (minus the celibacy). Her focus, her journey, her end result is Christ and reaching out to those who need His love most. The desperate, destitute, and dreary world sees this light shining from her because her source is the Light. Sacrifice and toil are her closest companions. Her ministry is her life is her ministry. <--- I want to be 30% her. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">What about the princess? The one who squeals at dirt and dreams of being swept away by a destined knight on a white horse. She replaces every damsel in distress (even the Disney ones) with herself as she imagines being needed and desired enough to be pursued in the right way. <--- I'm 20% her. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I want to be my mother. I want her strengths and her achievements. Her knowledge and her talent are surely to be mine, right? They're in my blood. She is an example unto herself of a woman that I strive to be. She is a real woman with weaknesses that she has to fight against and goals that seems daunting to her at times. Yet she still climbs toward them. She cares for her children and prays for her friends. She has a listening ear and an a compassion that warms the soul. <--- I am 15% her. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Wonder Woman, by my definition, has a week-long meal planned out. Her children's faces are never crusty or dirt-smeared. Her house has an air that draws company and keeps them. Her husband adores her cooking and her friends call to ask for her opinion of household decor. She seems like the 50's housewife... but in all actuality, she's just totally creative and has time to be so. <-- I'm 5% her.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> This free spirit doesn't </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">care</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> if her kid's face is dirty, bare feet help him feel the earth, artistic character is developed best in chaos. Every day is an adventure and every discovery is a lesson learned- be it messy or on the edge of danger. Her kisses are untapped and her understanding transcends culture or social skill. She employs abandon and encourages running free. <--- I am 10% her. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> <b>“Women are strange and incomprehensible, a device invented by Providence to keep the wit of man well sharpened by constant employment” -Arnold Bennett </b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>“Oh, woman, woman! When to ill thy mind is bent, all Hell contains no fouler fiend” -Homer </b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>“I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.” -Sex and the City quote </b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>“How can a woman be expected to be happy with a man who insists on treating her as if she were a perfectly normal human being.” -Oscar Wilde </b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><br /></b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>“You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her”</b></span></span></div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-66226047509216899552011-01-07T14:24:00.004-07:002011-01-07T15:37:49.414-07:00stuff you may or may not be interested in.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUXxMo9ZMzXjIErR3aaI2rS4M1EpkaPWN4dAoDWeOl09xw5c_yW7g6zO6MdSRFc5MHTtj8_6hn9E_yfMFLFTua7VbHIPIkO5fl8wP4YuBPXw-D95O9T1axS4yYq3pb-siVro1NORZEMO2/s1600/DSCN0137.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbUXxMo9ZMzXjIErR3aaI2rS4M1EpkaPWN4dAoDWeOl09xw5c_yW7g6zO6MdSRFc5MHTtj8_6hn9E_yfMFLFTua7VbHIPIkO5fl8wP4YuBPXw-D95O9T1axS4yYq3pb-siVro1NORZEMO2/s320/DSCN0137.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5559576499263372978" /></a><br />conflict makes me feel sick.<br />it takes forever for me to make a decision, but when I do I'm confident enough to stick with it.<br />i'd totally be a barista again.<br />i love my dad but can't wait to move out of his house. or there might be a death in the family (of the animal sort).<br />of all the things i'm most grateful, it's for being allowed to be a mother.<br />i'm in love.<br />my pointer finger is double-joined and looks like it has been broken in half.<br />i wish dream interpreting books actually made sense.<br />i'm total girl and i frequently over-dress for an occasion. <br />the "snooze" button must be hit at least four times before i can drag myself out of bed. <br />"it is so happy to love." <---- first tattoo. for sure.<br />harry potter > twilight. there, i said it.<br />in life, i've gone from never speaking my mind to speaking my mind too much to knowing when to speak and what to say. iz good.<br />it frustrates me when people ask for help and then turn down every offer provided to them.<br />a recent lesson: God is not a cookie-cutter. He works in everyone according to their own person... and His will of course. but, what He has done for you or has told them is not the same for me. <br />my baby boy is growing and it astounds me how much he's starting to learn. it also makes me a little sad.<br />it's going to be an AWESOME year.<br />when you know... you know.<br />i'm not going to blog about this love, just yet. give us a little private time to revel in its newness and then you'll hear all about it. i promise. <3<br />"when I question something... i just buy a new outfit." <-- not originally me, still awesome.<br />my prime thinking time is when i brush my teeth.<br />i absolutely LOVE being a listening ear for my friends.<br />talking on the phone is not my thing, but i'll talk to him for hourrrrs.<br />God wants me to live in washington state, i just know it.Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-1160918023725272272010-12-22T12:43:00.003-07:002010-12-22T13:05:57.283-07:00♫ I Believe...Every year I get lost in "<i>the meaning of Christmas</i>. Between my Christian upbringing, the political madness (<i>Say Happy Holidays, not Merry Christmas!</i>), the busy-ness, the stress of money and time, the extra hours at work, and the constant noise around me...my view of Christmas changes almost every year. <br /><br />This year, it's for the better.<br /><br />This year, I've officially decided that <i>I believe in magic. </i><br /><br />I believe in Santa as much as my little girls, because the excitement in their eyes is more convincing than anything I've ever been told.<br /><br />I believe that the buzz of Christmas has been commercialized, and it's thing to be <i>felt</i>, not accomplished.<br /><br />I believe that the true meaning of Christmas IS Jesus' birthday, but that you can believe in magic too.<br /><br />I believe that things get harder for those around us at Christmas, to make us appreciate the things we can't reach or understand. <br /><br />I believe that traditions are things you can start at any age.<br /><br />I believe it possible to send love, peace and strength, instead of material gifts.<br /><br />I believe in old fashioned Christmas cards, and will <i>never</i> email them. <br /><br />I believe that those that are suffering should be our focus, instead of those craving spoiling.<br /><br />I believe in the power of prayer.<br /><br />I believe life shows us hardships, to force us to remember the small things.<br /><br />After closing my eyes. and <i>feeling</i> my way through a store to find the perfect gift for somebody that <i>needs</i> texture...I believe that Christmas is held in the eyes of children, and in the touch of people with special needs. <br /><br />I believe Christmas music rarely tells the story right.<br /><br />I believe that Christmas is a time of year, not a single day.<br /><br />I believe that "Christmas" goes by many names, which doesn't make them any more right or wrong. (<i>This tradition has been around for centuries, and the original story has long been forgotten. How do YOU celebrate Christmas? What about your great great great great grandmother?...follow your history; open your eyes)</i>)<br /><br /><strong><u><i>I believe in magic.</i></strong></u><br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />NomzDaily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-20360664142070812342010-12-03T10:33:00.002-07:002010-12-03T10:40:59.845-07:00**Facebook Awareness Campaigns<strong>We had a ghost blog come in to our inbox today! I'm sure she'd love your two cents on this matter! - Nomz and Sazaran<br /><br /><i>Nomz's intro: To add a bit to this one...there are a lot of "Facebook Campaigns" that go around. Anything from "Change your picture to raise awareness!" or "make this your status if you agree!". It frustrates a lot of people that are actually out there DOING instead of SAYING. On the other hand, in my opinion...it still raises awareness. Getting people to think and talk about certain issues is the first step in creating an action. Hmmm...what are your thoughts?</i></strong><br /><br /><u>Ghost Writer:</u><br /><br />Wondering if it bothers anybody else in the world when people think that just changing their profile pic on Facebook really supports something. If you get inspired, please write about it to your audience.<br /> <br />This is my status today after a very rough week (My son's friend's Grandma and Grandpa lost their house to fire this week. I went to a cops funeral and another has been senselessly shot, and I ran my truck through a barbed wire fence, etc...):<br /><br /><i>" Hold up. Exactly how does changing your profile picture to a cartoon character support the fight against child abuse? I don't get it. All that did was change your profile pic. ** If you really want to support the fight, get involved as a mentor, volunteer at a shelter or school, or send money to the nearest Salvation Army or Safe House.** "</i><br /><br />-KGDaily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-77279188211066240592010-12-02T15:56:00.005-07:002010-12-02T16:09:50.444-07:00♫ Ain't no cookin' like yo' mama's cookin'<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ms-SOueyEdq6gZoxsmq1aX7ggE8InaD5lEWqkZHNRDFEMGRSKCMquxHpVg70yfyQV7xUk_-T8XJ-dfV1crb1hygGryjtBClXI4mG3SaCpeAGOibiBnOWPlJ6tnGLGnXuMkHeeNKKRXh4/s1600/27942_451891412305_655492305_5966643_5331271_n.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0ms-SOueyEdq6gZoxsmq1aX7ggE8InaD5lEWqkZHNRDFEMGRSKCMquxHpVg70yfyQV7xUk_-T8XJ-dfV1crb1hygGryjtBClXI4mG3SaCpeAGOibiBnOWPlJ6tnGLGnXuMkHeeNKKRXh4/s400/27942_451891412305_655492305_5966643_5331271_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5546225619387781042" /></a><br /><br /><strong>My mama and my baby!</strong><br /><br /><br />I need to note, before I get started, that a lot of these things in this blog are meant to be funny, (<i>I kid, I kid!</i>) but for the most part, it's nonfiction. <br /><br />I love to cook. I <i>adore</i> cooking, but lately, not only is it hard to find the time to do the entire project (<i>come onnnnn, we all know it's not about wham-bamming something together...the prep and clean up are HUGE chores</i>), but I also hate that I don't <strong>own</strong> a recipe. I've borrowed hundreds, I've mastered several, I can follow a recipe and tweak it a bit and still have it turn out fine. <br /><br />BUT...as the saying goes, there ain't no cookin', like yo' mama's cookin'. Mostly, I want to know, now that I'm a mom, <strong>when this saying kicks in</strong>!<br /><br />Here's the thing...my mom came from a mom that can COOK. Obviously, most grandma's (if you're my age) grew up in the depression, and learned pretty quickly how to make masterpieces out of thin air and flower. I think as of late, or society has made cooking too simple...problem #1 for those of us that want to be infamous by our kids someday.<br /><br />My mom then married a man from Minnesooooohta. If you know anything about the midwest, you know that any food made in the midwest is deep fried, slathered, and covered in cheese. So, my mastermind of a mama, combined what her brilliant mom taught her, with my daddy's cravings her grew up with, and <i>mastered</i> recipes! Those that have ever had her (or my) chicken enchiladas, beer cheese soup, lasagna, chicken & noodle soup with practically homemade noodles, breakfast anything, baked delights, etc....know I'm not kidding. <br /><br /><i>Here's where the joking comes in</i>...<strong>IF my mom utters the words, "Come for a meal! I cleaned out the fridge today, added eggs, and call it garbage...it's really good!", <u>OR</u>, "I tried a new recipe on my pot roast, it's good this time!"</strong>...skip the invite. (<i>I kid, I KID!</i>) <br /><br />My mama is a heckova cook, and I honestly can't wait until I inherit her gravy-making skills, her instinct to season when/where, her ability to know <i>how slow to stir</i>, and whatever else magic happens that makes ME a good cook, because I'm a mama too. Until then...I love you all for forwarding every one of your favorite recipes, for attempting my "<i>new</i>" recipes, and for laughing with me...when <i>I kid, I KID!</i>. <br /><br />What's your favorite mama-dish?<br />Aside from the ones I listed above? My mom makes a killer bone soup. <---Not kidding.<br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />NomzDaily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-81556175395310474092010-12-01T13:30:00.004-07:002010-12-01T13:51:08.728-07:00♫ Little Miss...I've got this overwhelming urge to organize <i>something</i>, probably because my life is in such disarray at the moment. So, I'm organizing randomness. <--this takes talent, people.<br /><br /><strong>I wish</strong><br /><br />*I wish the world, including myself, had less of a reliance for material items, and more of a need for emotional satisfaction.<br /><br />*I wish, sometimes, that I could choose who reads our blog. Not that I want to <i>block</i> people, I wish I could block their assumptions though.<br /><br />*I wish I wouldn't wait until I'm absolutely down and beaten, to remind myself that it's easier to be optimistic.<br /><br />*I wish there was a way to decline kindness, without offending or hurting.<br /><br />*I wish I could see the world through my kids' eyes.<br /><br />*I wish more people would realize that it's the season to give, and not the season to gripe.<br /><br />*I wish I could swoop up every hurting child in the world, and mother the heck out of them.<br /><br /><strong>I've learned:</strong><br /><br />*I've learned that... <i>"Everything that irritates us about others can lead us to a better understanding of ourselves."</i><br /><br />*I've learned that I make mistakes, and no matter how much I cry about them, they'll probably happen again.<br /><br />*I've learned that when people have a void, they usually fill it with all of the wrong things, rather than seeking self worth. <br /><br />*I've realized that I lack confidence in myself, and guilt trip myself as often as possible, to somehow make me feel better.<br /><br />*I've learned that music heals faster than anything else.<br /><br /><strong>I need to remember:</strong><br /><br />*I need to remember that most people, regardless of their actual <i>action</i>, have good intentions in mind.<br /><br />*I need to remember that no matter what, I only have control over my reactions and emotions.<br /><br />*I need to remember that I am right where I'm supposed to be, or God wouldn't have let the doors open.<br /><br /><strong>New findings and musings:</strong><br /><br />*You're never too old to need your daddy.<br /><br />*Tuesdays aren't nearly as bad as I always thought. In fact, they are right up there with Fridays in my book...all of a sudden.<br /><br />*Bitterness in contagious. Fight it with immune boosters including but not limited to: <i>optimism, 'thank you's', positive energy, the ability to walk away.</i><br /><br />*Every girl needs a pile of good girlfriends. <br /><br />*There is very little that cannot be cured with a flat iron and a glass of wine.<br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />Nomz<br /><br />PS- My latest favorite tune, brought to you by Sugarland: (<i>In case Sugarland makes your ears bleed, please see lyrics posted below video</i>)<br /><br /><object width=240" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/xCj9dRu0ksM?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/xCj9dRu0ksM?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />Little Miss down on love,<br />Little Miss I give up,<br />Little Miss I'll get tough, don't you worry 'bout me anymore<br /><br />Little Miss checkered dress,<br />Little Miss one big mess,<br />Little Miss I'll take less when I always knew so much more<br /><br />It's alright, it's alright, it's alright,<br />Yeah, sometimes ya gotta lose 'til ya win,<br />It's alright, it's alright, it's alright,<br />It'll be alright again, it'll be alright again<br /><br />I'm okay, It'll be alright again, I'm okay (okay) It'll be alright again, I'm okay<br /><br />Little Miss do your best,<br />Little Miss never rest,<br />Little Miss, be my guest, I'll make more anytime it runs out<br /><br />Little Miss you'll go far,<br />Little Miss hide your scars,<br />Little Miss who you are is so much more than you like to talk about<br /><br />It's alright, it's alright, it's alright,<br />Yeah, sometimes ya gotta lose 'til ya win,<br />It's alright, it's alright, it's alright,<br />It'll be alright again, it'll be alright again,<br />I'm okay, It'll be alright again, I'm okay (okay) It'll be alright again, I'm okay<br /><br />Hold on, hold on, you are loved, are loved<br /><br />Little Miss brand new start,<br />Little Miss do your part,<br />Little Miss big ole heart beats wide open, she's ready now for love<br /><br />It's alright, it's alright, it's alright,<br />Yeah, sometimes ya gotta lose 'til ya win,<br />It's alright, it's alright, it's alright,<br />It'll be alright again, it'll be alright again<br />I'm okay, It'll be alright again, I'm okay (okay) It'll be alright again, I'm okay,<br />It'll be alright againDaily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-12133135536934287702010-11-23T11:24:00.008-07:002010-11-26T00:24:39.172-07:00♥h.o.p.e.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM8wpy0Q0bA7t3PWb12isV6dRKy5aw0PQktP4shI93XbB3aTp12h4ofy8BHKngjynbOWj_9dLI8IYry5VN4CH_42lVzW2Wx1IkvLuepKyA5J93uB7bzeeGUKeLW5XnjxVu5QwDdOEE8Uu/s1600/hopw.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghM8wpy0Q0bA7t3PWb12isV6dRKy5aw0PQktP4shI93XbB3aTp12h4ofy8BHKngjynbOWj_9dLI8IYry5VN4CH_42lVzW2Wx1IkvLuepKyA5J93uB7bzeeGUKeLW5XnjxVu5QwDdOEE8Uu/s400/hopw.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542813022168787586" /></a><div><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"Never let go of hope. One day you will see that it all has finally come together. What you have always wished for has finally come to be. You will look back and laugh at what has passed and you will ask yourself... 'How did I get through all of that?'" -Unknown.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">If anyone had ever predicted this past year to me, in detail, I would have screamed and kicked and cried. I would have thrown a very toddler-like fit at the change that would encroach upon my change-hating self. I would have cursed the day that said transition began to take place and I definitely would have resisted every step. Had the prediction come with, "It will be worth it. And here's why," I would have simply replied, "Bring it on." Wanna know why? Because God is faithful. He gives and He takes away. And what He replaces with what He takes away... man, it's so much </span></span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">more</span></span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> than "worth it". Having what I have now, what I will soon have, what I know He will eventually give me has made every tear, ever groan and every *head desk* completely and undeniably worth.it. And this thought is what will carry me through all of life's changes that I may not necessarily welcome with open arms. </span></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom:0in;margin-bottom:.0001pt;mso-pagination: none;mso-layout-grid-align:none;text-autospace:none"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come.</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You wait and watch and work:</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">you don’t give up.” –Anne Lamott</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">You will guard him and keep him in perfect and constant peace whose mind [both its inclination and its character] is stayed on You, because he commits himself to You, leans on You, and hopes confidently in You." Isaiah 26:3</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">More and more I realize that I love written words- because they allow me more time to really think about how I feel and put those feelings into physical imagery. So many times, my brain is working so quickly that when I </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">talk</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I stutter, skip over entire words in the telling of a story, forget what I mean to say, get distracted or just plain interrupted. But when I write, I get to see the words flow from my mind/heart onto paper or screen. I get to think of what I want as I communicate it. No embarrassing slip ups, no misunderstanding (minus tone which I know can be an issue) and no worry of saying something I didn't mean to say. I'm able to choose phrases and lingo that matches precisely my mood, my intentions or my feelings. I cannot learn too many words and I cannot write too many thoughts. And as they leak onto "paper" I am always grateful for the comfort and accomplishment they bring.<br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlq_YdjS8EX07l4PrI4A8EpvrlKunc38WJnfa7JAQvOt68yxTK3LT5tm2THmR-awNXjqqPNpWx4Gi-avM1hyphenhyphenuMi336flYaryaGj9dSnG4qAwpMOS4oe9NmassNIpWy_Jhh-ZUTrrJ_lR2r/s1600/words.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 290px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlq_YdjS8EX07l4PrI4A8EpvrlKunc38WJnfa7JAQvOt68yxTK3LT5tm2THmR-awNXjqqPNpWx4Gi-avM1hyphenhyphenuMi336flYaryaGj9dSnG4qAwpMOS4oe9NmassNIpWy_Jhh-ZUTrrJ_lR2r/s320/words.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5543750472382825090" /></a></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul, and sings tunes</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">without words and never stops at all.” Emily Dickinson</span></span></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I'm so thankful; for best friends and accomplices in shopping shenanigans. I'm thankful for being on the receiving end of blessing, though I am fully aware that I am undeserving of good things and amazing people. I'm thankful for friends and family that will stand with me through thick and thin; for a son who makes me smile every day; for the ability to laugh so readily; for being surrounded by people with colorful and rich personalities; for the irreplaceable ones; for the loyal and optimistic ones. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“Hope is not the conviction that something will turn out well but the certainty that something makes sense, regardless of how it turns out.” –Vaclav Havel</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Newest little lesson: validation. Reminder: validation cannot come from people. Note to self: your validation comes from Christ alone. And if you seek validation from fellow, imperfect humans, you will be disappointed in them and in yourself all at the same time. When Christ validates you, He does so from a place of holiness and perfection. Because He is perfect and calls you perfect, your validation will be untouchable and everlasting and </span><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">not</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> based your mostly messy life punctuated by good deeds.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">“Hope is the feeling that the feeling you have isn’t permanent.” –Jean Karr</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I miss the days of cassette tapes with their love-music mixes and disposable cameras with their physically printed memories. There's something about holding a thing of sentimental value in your hands as opposed to being displayed on a glowing screen. I will always own journals and books. I will always have authorial collections in stacks upon stacks- taking up their reserved spaces on my shelves. I will always own CDs and listen to them until they wear out. Because they just seem so much more real when I can hold them in my hands.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Lately? Lately my cheeks have this little ache... I smile <i>constantly.</i> Some change is good.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:georgia;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p></div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-81020347715154306172010-11-22T12:49:00.007-07:002010-11-22T13:10:28.534-07:00♫ Random Monday: 11/22/10<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAefnbQrDL3NYt06saNxY9qUDWz8lnMEPsq_dzWLavjDhyoQAJdItAYTSRON-RM5eWPKyD2bSw3qKWuFnYrbM2Aq-XmeTRdE6P-E3sRyd5mJIj0qXel5eu-WE6rA1DmeCvRUuaLGw3-tSw/s1600/Shout%2521.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAefnbQrDL3NYt06saNxY9qUDWz8lnMEPsq_dzWLavjDhyoQAJdItAYTSRON-RM5eWPKyD2bSw3qKWuFnYrbM2Aq-XmeTRdE6P-E3sRyd5mJIj0qXel5eu-WE6rA1DmeCvRUuaLGw3-tSw/s400/Shout%2521.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542467510566393346" /></a><br /><br /><i>Teaching my kiddos the importance of the <strong>SHOUT!</strong> song!</i><br /><br />So...let's all SHOUT for Random Monday, shall we? <i>OMG on a Monday and everything!</i><br /><br />Random Monday's have become much, MUCH more random...thanks to a MUCH crazier life. But, I promise once a month or so, to throw in random musings and thoughts. <i>Just what you always wanted, right?!</i><br /><br />*I got absolutely spoiled rotten for my birthday. So much so, that I have high hopes to blog about the entire experience. BUT, a shout out, to those that made it absolutely amazing, who joined me for the multiple celebrations, and for overall making me feel adored. <3 A blog will come in your honor, I promise.<br /><br />*I realized that it's not the matter of years in your life, but the matter of life in your years. <--yes, I stole that. But it's one thing to read it, and a whole different thing to KNOW it. I'm one blessed girl.<br /><br />*Being a working mom is great most days. I get to see my kids first thing in the morning, pick out their clothes, wish them luck on their day, and usually say their prayers with them at night before bed, or even catch them in the early evening to get a recap on their adventures. Some days though, I <i>do</i> work two jobs, and it's <i>harrrrrrd</i> on my heart strings. Today is definitely one of those rough days<br /><br />*I hate being lied to. I hate being blown off. And I really hate when they happen at the same time.<br /><br />*Sometimes, I need more of an ear, than advice. I'm a problem solver by nature, I just like to whine about those problems before I solve them. <--<i>I'm a girl, admittedly. </i> <br /><br />*There is a gentle balance between spendy and thrifty. It's not good to be too far on either side, trust me.<br /><br />*You can love <i>any</i> bad behavior, bad germ, and bad luck out of any person. Love cures all. <br /><br />*<i>"Friends are God's way of apologizing for family."</i> <--this quote will be in my <strong>"for days you need a laugh"</strong> file.<br /><br />*It's almost Thanksgiving! And I can't <i>wait</i> to have me some HAM! I despise turkey. We are having a fun string of comments on our Facebook page about the different Thanksgivings our readers have though! Join us: <a href= "http://www.facebook.com/DailyOffensive" title= "Daily Offensive on Facebook!" target= _blank>Daily Offensive on Facebook!</a><br /><br />*My support system has like...Hulk Hogan...strength. I mean, I've met the guy, and I can tell you that my support system could easy take him on (<i>Thank you, for being the sole reason I survive our hectic lifestyle</i>), and possibly beat him. They're amazing. And so much more attractive. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6bab2MEkILcPUzlk63Zyw-48jy5tGQtxlhsvNEzdzKQiA5cKBVtLk9eZ30hXfAXoLXgJfOmfYeZusD7LcLWzmnkDGvbCnmBp7xYkavqMtk053pJKES4JS-0-kpIkqGpAGrFw9P2w9f0L0/s1600/Hulk.jpg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 272px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6bab2MEkILcPUzlk63Zyw-48jy5tGQtxlhsvNEzdzKQiA5cKBVtLk9eZ30hXfAXoLXgJfOmfYeZusD7LcLWzmnkDGvbCnmBp7xYkavqMtk053pJKES4JS-0-kpIkqGpAGrFw9P2w9f0L0/s320/Hulk.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5542466572289248690" /></a><br /><br />*I have babbbeeee fever. I mean, I don't <i>want</i> one, but I want to hold one so bad! WILL SOMEBODY PLEASE HAVE A BABY, KTHXBAI.<br /><br />*Back to face Monday, which, all things considered, isn't too terrible afterall. :)<br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />NomzDaily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-15520405128758036452010-11-19T10:53:00.007-07:002010-11-19T14:40:21.863-07:00♥Note To Self:<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJ_AoP1kPyUNjTLEaoxLrKd3QQSUc5B-A-0tvGhh-DbjMVtRIu2CbgxlkNSg0JVJs7tGKtsJTJ3YNYWLwCrLLVjYScpc9xWSsZBPiKFBj6bl9Nmt9XZE2ht7wlsBDCNxvOwD-ZKha5PFu/s1600/peonies.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 213px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXJ_AoP1kPyUNjTLEaoxLrKd3QQSUc5B-A-0tvGhh-DbjMVtRIu2CbgxlkNSg0JVJs7tGKtsJTJ3YNYWLwCrLLVjYScpc9xWSsZBPiKFBj6bl9Nmt9XZE2ht7wlsBDCNxvOwD-ZKha5PFu/s320/peonies.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541331068935568274" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">(Image by </span><a href="http://www.peoniesandpolaroids.com/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Peonies and Polaroids</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">)</span></div><div><br />I think I'd like to have a garden full of white and light pink peonies. Then, in the summer, I'd take my sun-hat, white linen dress, favorite book and spend <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">hourrrrs</span> just soaking in the sweet smell and printed words. Dream: (n).<br /><br />It has just been TOO long since I've walked along the beach, barefoot and full of thoughts. The sound of water always helps me sort through said musings. I'm pretty sure my home in heaven will be a seaside flat. Cause Jesus knows it's what my heart wants most.<br /><br />Why is it that expensive taste floats around in my blood? It's just not fair. I want <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">allll</span> the pretty things.<br /><br />Is it weird that I study people's profiles (not the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Facebook</span> kind)? I love noticing details like the bridge of a nose, the length of eyelashes, the posture of a forehead and the position of cheekbones. If I were an artist, I think I would have <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">sketched</span> books and books of profiles from everyone I set my eyes upon.<br /><br />If today had a color, I think it would be powder-purple.<br /><br />I want a life full of snowflake kisses and counting stars. I want endless summer nights by a campfire and road-trips with the windows rolled down and the music in my hair- feet propped up on the dashboard, bopping to the beat. I want a life infused with unquenchable giggles and nail painting parties. With early morning tea and journal scribbles. I want to always turn to the middle of a book and find it just as thrilling as the beginning or end.<br /><br />When in doubt, stick your foot out and wait for it to contact with faith.<br /><br />"Blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love." -Hamilton Wright Mable<br /><br />Someday I want to be involved in a grand comic tragedy in which I can actually blurt out, <i>"Words, don't fail me now!"</i></div><div><br /></div><div>Note to self: breathe. Deeply. Breathe in all the goodness of God. Taste and see that He is good. Know He is in control. Fear not but only rejoice in what He's got brewing for you.<br /><br />Remember the game of story writing? Remember when you'd write one little part and pass it along for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">another's</span> input? See below:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6YiL2Ikwyz8puUkrw4DlzlCY9fFCKeWNXzcHSl2duIaBQhvH4I7Lq_ZTpP5mh1lddK8FnhnxU9fF2GUuBpvTjYeYbXFtkNdsxhHTJ3tveAj0_4oO64fXgMN5D9ZVeW86UXCZL259WS0P/s1600/littlepenguin.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 255px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL6YiL2Ikwyz8puUkrw4DlzlCY9fFCKeWNXzcHSl2duIaBQhvH4I7Lq_ZTpP5mh1lddK8FnhnxU9fF2GUuBpvTjYeYbXFtkNdsxhHTJ3tveAj0_4oO64fXgMN5D9ZVeW86UXCZL259WS0P/s320/littlepenguin.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541336745323360258" /></a><br /></div><div>1. There once was a little penguin. His most precious possession was a finely polished sea stone. One day, his mother, coming back from a day of fishing, misplaced it for rubbish and threw it to the bottom of the sea. Upon discovering her mistake, she frantically searched the depths, but to no avail. The little penguin was so distraught he cried for days. He resolved to search for it no matter what it took and thus be began the most perilous adventure he would ever undertake...</div><div><br /></div><div>2. The little penguin gathered all of this courage and dove from his home into the depths of the cold sea. Deeper and deeper he swam- only thinking <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">of</span> his precious stone. Suddenly, the little penguin saw out of the corner of his eye a dark figure swimming swiftly toward him...</div><div><br /></div><div>3. It was a yellow submarine! At first the little penguin was so frightened he could not move. After a few minutes, he realized it was harmless and decided to follow it. Maybe it knew where he stone was!</div><div><br /></div><div>4. The penguin approached the submarine and realized that it was a different type of submarine than he had ever seen. As he got closer, he saw that there were cages on the submarine. As he peered into the window, he discovered that his mom was in one of the cages! No longer was the little penguin concerned for his sea stone...</div><div><br /></div><div>5. The little penguin quickly devised a plan to rescue his mother and her friends. <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">This</span> plan involves a very long journey through the penguin town, over the great penguin mountains, through the dangerous arctic-cat caves and eventually to his final destination....</div><div><br /></div><div>NOW, it's your turn! Add to my story, won't you?! Be sure to see what others have written before you add your two cents. ;-)</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-13407705164800980282010-11-18T12:28:00.002-07:002010-11-18T12:41:24.165-07:00♫ I'm going to divorce Brandon.Oh gosh people, stop looking at me like that. I can't divorce a guy I'm not married to. But IF we were to ever get married, and IF Eva Mendes showed up at our doorstep begging for his companionship, I'd gladly walk away. That's our deal. He has an "out", somebody he can leave me for without any hard feelings. Mine? Oooooh hoho, ladies and gents, <i>mine</i> is Gerard Butler (<i>right?!</i>).<br /><br />And thennnn, whilst coming up with these words, I found this picture: (<i>please refrain from licking your monitor, ok?</i>)<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkzSqCPCo7wFLbh_dTIgeXZx9EfFjfsgCmkgZ-8noVWDkXz6UKeTHD7rwoQr0MYC6EWtrGfbnyVUnUjU7KEAOiA50Hb28qCrSQs29XgbSi_E2amxen8ZBskkaI9LKg_dVdv03qF7Xn2vg/s1600/spl72396_046preview.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 252px; height: 400px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdkzSqCPCo7wFLbh_dTIgeXZx9EfFjfsgCmkgZ-8noVWDkXz6UKeTHD7rwoQr0MYC6EWtrGfbnyVUnUjU7KEAOiA50Hb28qCrSQs29XgbSi_E2amxen8ZBskkaI9LKg_dVdv03qF7Xn2vg/s400/spl72396_046preview.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540976689853525506" border="0" /></a><br /><br />Post drooling, I'd love to know if you and yours have discussed such madness. Would you leave your guy/gal for a celebrity? If so, who?<br /><br />In my opinion...you can't really, truly, successfully love somebody until you can admit and love your own shortcomings. I know I'm gorgeous and loveable without the perfect skin and bouncy chest. ;) It's important to be able to openly discuss what you feel are your weaknesses are, and be able to joke about them. He's going to love you anyway ladies, as long as your secure in who you are without his approval. So, lovlies, lust away at your favorite actor/actress, laugh at the unfathomable, and love yourself first. <strong><i>Enjoy the bliss of imperfections!</i></strong><br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />NomzDaily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-18565648188359134622010-11-16T13:04:00.007-07:002010-11-16T15:36:58.534-07:00♥ Thoughts<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSZDhBN5lYTVwX7yPhdP4gARcBt5oWNR-mUONTC-KbthPouScuRcisvdseFVrEzleZBqEod1WwWhoOcxg1b2_B8gflB82RDuG8-xm3ihAOaDdAlNm953SXGR2qzgxVMEa3MTWrGjzKvfh/s1600/besoft.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSZDhBN5lYTVwX7yPhdP4gARcBt5oWNR-mUONTC-KbthPouScuRcisvdseFVrEzleZBqEod1WwWhoOcxg1b2_B8gflB82RDuG8-xm3ihAOaDdAlNm953SXGR2qzgxVMEa3MTWrGjzKvfh/s400/besoft.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540265486641317010" /></a><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><u><br /></u></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQSZDhBN5lYTVwX7yPhdP4gARcBt5oWNR-mUONTC-KbthPouScuRcisvdseFVrEzleZBqEod1WwWhoOcxg1b2_B8gflB82RDuG8-xm3ihAOaDdAlNm953SXGR2qzgxVMEa3MTWrGjzKvfh/s1600/besoft.jpg"></a>You can't force people to be mature. They have to want to be mature and then take steps toward growth. All you can do is wait patiently and cheer the day when they finally put on grown-up pants and be an adult. <div><br /></div><div>Twenty-six days until my birthday. Just <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">sayin</span>'.</div><div><br /></div><div>Babies are everywhere and I couldn't be more happy. I get to love on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">alllll</span> of them when they're around. I get to smell them and remember what it was like to have my own little grunting infant- without the mess or the stress of being a newbie mama. </div><div><br /></div><div>I heart <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">stackable</span> rings. I do. They're so vintage and awesome.</div><div><br /></div><div>"Life exists for the love of music or beautiful things." -G. K. Chesterton</div><div><br /></div><div>Sometimes I wish my life played out like the movie Sliding Doors (with Gwyneth <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Paltrow</span>) and I could tweak little things here and there to see how they would affect my future. Just for the fun of it. Of course, this would all be a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">pre</span>-showing and I'd get to choose which version I liked best before allowing it to actually become public and real.</div><div><br /></div><div>I've said it once, I'll say it again: Sea Lion Woman by <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">Feist</span> rocks my freaking face off. </div><div><br /></div><div>It seems like my creativity has been ebbing and flowing in a really random pattern, lately. And I can't put my finger on the reason why- but I haven't been able to write <i>and</i> craft or make jewelry at the same time. I have to do one or the other for short seasons of time. Weird.</div><div><br /></div><div>"There is no justification without sanctification; no forgiveness without renewal of life; no real faith from which the fruits of new obedience do not grow." -Martin Luther</div><div><br /></div><div>Here's an idea: let's mix up all of our holidays! We can have a July 4<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">th</span> feast, play with pretty sparklers on Christmas, set up a tree for Easter, swap presents for President's Day, give chocolate roses for Thanksgiving. Have I stumbled upon a new, wacky tradition? </div><div><br /></div><div>I keep having dreams of being pregnant- maybe because I'm surrounded by babies. Or maybe because they make my subconscious happy? I need a modern-day Daniel. Or I need to stop eating cheese pizza before bed.</div></div><div><br /></div><div>Oh man, is it so much better to just let things out than to keep them bottled up. The heart can't flourish when it's crowded by angst and negative feelings. It's so so so so important to have people filling up your life who are able to lend an ear (or thumbs? I guess, since we're in a <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">texting</span> era) and be the sunshine that breaks apart the gloomy clouds. </div><div><br /></div><div><span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">Aaaaand</span> end.</div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-70890672447022572432010-11-16T09:38:00.004-07:002010-11-16T10:21:36.520-07:00♥Happy Birthday Beautiful Nomz!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmI2KubngYuDv9NtfcACsiVVN8IbmzGo2QG7qadCiYRMdHo1jWbzClq1Pi0MhZPBO3JbmxQ9ycBJ7xXWKNYholFn2nN3FZEk1LFP92CseaIWHlfGhwra21HacECtwzYAhKH1YmfcsPooq/s1600/birfday.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 232px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBmI2KubngYuDv9NtfcACsiVVN8IbmzGo2QG7qadCiYRMdHo1jWbzClq1Pi0MhZPBO3JbmxQ9ycBJ7xXWKNYholFn2nN3FZEk1LFP92CseaIWHlfGhwra21HacECtwzYAhKH1YmfcsPooq/s320/birfday.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540198339951097842" /></a><br />Ever have that friend that is just so <i>right</i> for you? The one you love closer than a sibling; who can compare quite closely to a giant piece of chocolate cake; who gets you without even trying? I haz one. Well, I haz more than one. But, today this post is about one in particular. You know of her- she's said co-blogger and "all around goddess of paperclips".<div><br /></div><div>Today, our beautiful and talented Naomi is 27. I KNOW, RIGHT?! While it does sound old, let me assure you that she is not bound by her numerical identity. See why:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div> She gets quite the thrill at splashing through mud puddles:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShRj-g3fj9d8iDMSMMwOT7P-KUyvSkw4rMlx0NIpjvwkEPq2X3ACEQaU7oDW-M62Ij7dDY0vfsuFXUJ_6IhiZzT4qxwE5xHDJv7TZreopXqAgkbELRafyqlk-VWnLH15SHiXX6EVnytlK/s1600/mud+puddles.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 186px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgShRj-g3fj9d8iDMSMMwOT7P-KUyvSkw4rMlx0NIpjvwkEPq2X3ACEQaU7oDW-M62Ij7dDY0vfsuFXUJ_6IhiZzT4qxwE5xHDJv7TZreopXqAgkbELRafyqlk-VWnLH15SHiXX6EVnytlK/s320/mud+puddles.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540193236745717298" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>She LOVES a good jumping picture:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiheITePI8De2zI1DwKRk487p_BBPFmhZmwynZzGs3xkoghVhTh63J_qKvveEAReeYELdbdkpusnhCs9FtfNhyfE_0bRhIbSWn4VqLghkuxfaWdgniC8lJwvctDyWOznlVv_HTRMWYOTENo/s1600/jumpingpicture.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 233px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiheITePI8De2zI1DwKRk487p_BBPFmhZmwynZzGs3xkoghVhTh63J_qKvveEAReeYELdbdkpusnhCs9FtfNhyfE_0bRhIbSWn4VqLghkuxfaWdgniC8lJwvctDyWOznlVv_HTRMWYOTENo/s320/jumpingpicture.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540193243553011234" /></a><br /></div><div>Her laughter is a catalyst for giggles uncontrolled:</div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5t0UiqjM7MrUe6xl_Xr71yx8b_vR3QnGatYEo4tRBClFR2Nu0oQ_PqGCTVFybhXGQ_Bbcom0x0JyV3wdkeorD0YTZ92JH0MLEzip9JmwJ9LSrDu6zjU759BTesiEetU_LkiEhmNDwp6y2/s1600/giggles.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5t0UiqjM7MrUe6xl_Xr71yx8b_vR3QnGatYEo4tRBClFR2Nu0oQ_PqGCTVFybhXGQ_Bbcom0x0JyV3wdkeorD0YTZ92JH0MLEzip9JmwJ9LSrDu6zjU759BTesiEetU_LkiEhmNDwp6y2/s320/giggles.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540193250073546690" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>Her dancing skillz are not to be compared:</div><div><br /></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWO0xqsAsZkrJjVacUkdEIz42EMI5ZU6XlP5yZUfWjgX4_XkgvPck2ZWHGgPUv7OrJVekX_uR3YueMtLaxSvah-2aAjxa_k3vaULNvgQA6YD62FXkNVVoN7TGqD7qqg50XKZ8TbbsuUSB/s1600/dancingskillz.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 188px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiWO0xqsAsZkrJjVacUkdEIz42EMI5ZU6XlP5yZUfWjgX4_XkgvPck2ZWHGgPUv7OrJVekX_uR3YueMtLaxSvah-2aAjxa_k3vaULNvgQA6YD62FXkNVVoN7TGqD7qqg50XKZ8TbbsuUSB/s320/dancingskillz.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5540193257828960530" /></a><br /></div><div>So, even though Nomz is one year older, I'm pretty sure she's not worried about growing old- or about growing up, for that matter. Because what is age? It's just a number. A silly little number that has no influence whatsoever over our dreams, our hopes or our friends. </div><div><br /></div><div>Here's a toast to you, my fabulous inspirer of words, I hope this is your best birthday yet! ♥</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>"Love is the condition in which the happiness of another person is essential to your own." </div><div>-Robert Heinlein</div><div><br /></div><div>"The secret to staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly and lie about your age." -Lucille Ball</div><div><br /></div><div>"Never tell a young person that anything cannot be done. God may have been waiting centuries for someone ignorant enough of the impossible to do that very thing." -G. M. Trevelyan</div><div><br /></div>Daily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-20599940885270543532010-11-11T15:36:00.009-07:002010-11-11T15:56:23.576-07:00♫ Veteran's Day...Mixed Emotion?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZji0qGOIyWC-RI6ba16azU9XktxyyFcSfZj-QoNzwrZh1pYAUQhTNXrPINMY_NI1eOLJXt1RBVym_FCl-ZZ7uSqJTt1sb82qZUAsmLbyYQuVHsvgZl5a23_tvm6cFjXcg94IBCwaONHyQ/s1600/veterans+day1.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 396px; height: 273px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZji0qGOIyWC-RI6ba16azU9XktxyyFcSfZj-QoNzwrZh1pYAUQhTNXrPINMY_NI1eOLJXt1RBVym_FCl-ZZ7uSqJTt1sb82qZUAsmLbyYQuVHsvgZl5a23_tvm6cFjXcg94IBCwaONHyQ/s400/veterans+day1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538427014183271058" /></a><br /><br />It hurts my insides to read the press, the blogs, the tweets, the Facebook posts, etc. today. It seems like a lot of people have turned the day from what it should be, to a political stance. <br /><br />Today is about remembering. Not just September 11th - the reason our troops our fighting for our country overseas. But about every battle they've ever <i>chosen</i> to fight in all of history. The huge world wars, the fights on our own soil, the battles they fight every day against people that choose not to support them. Today is about remembering not only those that risked and sacrificed their own lives, but those of their families as well. <br /><br />They fight for our right to be independent, <strong>free</strong> individuals. People are dying for our right to blog, to eat, to pray, to speak, to live. <br /><br />Regardless of your political standings, your thoughts on whether we should be fighting a war, remember that these men and women are fighting for <strong>you</strong> to have an opinion. Celebrate them, pray for them, and thank them...not just today, but every time you see a uniform. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyHVja6ku9uPydmcTlnKQ19EbxqZhStIkEVwu21ewlj6wtPdFH0lfw75_AmEQINmE-kx_6PQoaaZv_aR8pNeK2IIpnUdlk2d1nB6JjwrwIn8-r4fUR2f8iScFB1yDMrCZo4qK1LQsoqkYM/s1600/veterans+day3.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 186px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyHVja6ku9uPydmcTlnKQ19EbxqZhStIkEVwu21ewlj6wtPdFH0lfw75_AmEQINmE-kx_6PQoaaZv_aR8pNeK2IIpnUdlk2d1nB6JjwrwIn8-r4fUR2f8iScFB1yDMrCZo4qK1LQsoqkYM/s320/veterans+day3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5538427253126470706" /></a><br /><br /><object width="340" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/9ETrr-XHBjE?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/9ETrr-XHBjE?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />NomzDaily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8209639647705729860.post-31133588812790649762010-11-10T12:42:00.004-07:002010-11-10T13:05:12.320-07:00♫ Help a Mom out!Over the last few weeks, I've had all this inspiration to write mom-help blogs. And for fear of being judged or criticized, I've chosen to ignore that little prodding inside. It must be a rebellious day, because I've changed my mind. And instead of writing a few different plea-for-advice blogs, I'm putting them all in this one, in a shorter, easier to read form. Be gentle.<br /><br /><strong>**Nightmares**</strong><br /><br />My oldest has gone from nightmaring, to slumbering so hard, I have to stick my finger under her nose every night to make sure she's still breathing (<i>yes, I really do it every night</i>). My youngest, only a year behind her, has hit that stage. <strong>Every</strong> night she wakes up with a nightmare. <br /><br />We've gotten in to quite the routine. She wakes up, sits up, hollers for me, I go in, she tells me that her heart is broken again (<i>cutest thing everrrrr, right?!</i>), and that she wants to pray about her bad dream. We do, she goes back to sleep, usually peacefully. <br /><br />Dilemma: It's cold in my house at night, I'm lazy, and after a really rough night last night, Brandon and I reflected on <i>our</i> childhoods and remembered <u>both</u> of our parents asking us to come to <i>their</i> room to report the offense, getting told to get a drink, and go back to bed. I wonder, dear moms, is it the cold house that spurs this decision? Am I doing it backwards or spoiling her by going to her? What did your parents do when you were little?<br /><br /><strong>**Mammaaaaaa, don't leeeeeeeave!**</strong><br /><br />My oldest, once again for comparison, never went through the abandonment fear. EVER. She also never went through a terrible two, three, or four. So, when my youngest came along, I assumed I'd rock the toddler stages out again with ease. To my surprise, as of late, my youngest has a new fear of me leaving her. She cries, tells me that she is going to miss me, and according to reports...quits the second I walk out of the house. <br /><br />I normally handle it by giving her extra loves and snuggles, telling her our entire agenda for the day (<i>where she'll be, where I'll be, when we'll be home together, etc.</i>), then I make sure she knows I love her, and I leave. It's gotten slightly better this week, fingers crossed it continues.<br /><br />Dilemma: Is four the normal age for this, or is it the new routine/new school dance that we're doing? Am I handling it right?<br /><br /><strong>**MY Nightmares**</strong><br /><br />Obviously, like any mom, my nightmares are that somebody will harm or steal my children in some way. I can't ask for advice, because there is only one way to extinguish that fear: <i>stop loving.</i>. I'll live with the nightmares, thank you very much.<br /><br />Dilemma: What do you do to ensure the safety of your child? WHY do we tolerate things like this: <a href= "http://tinyurl.com/2fvh642" title= "Sick and Disturbing" target= _blank>Sick and Disturbing</a>? (<i>In case you're afraid to click on it, it goes to Amazon dot com, and the only thing that will make your gut churn or raise your brow, is a book title. There are no pictures or not-safe-for-work material.</i>)<br /><br />It's infuriating that we're enabling! This is only one sick example...there are creepy books, websites, and useful information at hand for scary, scary people to get ahold of...but what do we do as an act of prevention, rather than waiting until something occurs? <br /><br />Would you consider yourself overprotective? <br /><br />Yours Truly,<br />NomzDaily Offensive (baha!)http://www.blogger.com/profile/03047182991316003595noreply@blogger.com4