<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841</id><updated>2011-07-07T16:06:11.161-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Morning News</title><subtitle type='html'>"All of this happened, more or less"</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>17</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-2283058522452325828</id><published>2008-04-02T08:42:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T08:52:03.790-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>It's been a little while since I've been on here.  Not because my life wasn't filled with stories, but because I didn't want to be on here. Anyway, I found this and thought it would be fun to do, so here goes:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this is a fun little thing where you put your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;iPod&lt;/span&gt; on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;shuffle&lt;/span&gt;, and whatever song plays is the song that you write down. And no cheating!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Opening Credits:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Waking Up: Call me the Breeze by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Lynyrd&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Skynyrd&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First Day at School: It's all been done by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Barenaked&lt;/span&gt; Ladies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Falling In Love: Warehouse by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;DMB&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;haha&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fight Song: Is this Love by Bob Marley&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Breaking Up: Lady, Your Roof Brings me Down by Scott &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Weiland&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prom: Portland, Oregon by Loretta Lynn and Jack White&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Life: Black Water by The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Doobies&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mental Breakdown: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;hahah&lt;/span&gt; We Can Work it Out by The Beatles&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Driving: What a Good Boy by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Barenaked&lt;/span&gt; Ladies (??)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Flashback: Can't Stop by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;DMB&lt;/span&gt;....fitting if they were drug induced flashbacks&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Getting Back Together: jeez...One Sweet World by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;DMB&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wedding: Traffic in the Sky by Jack Johnson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Birth of Child: ha The Horizon has been Defeated by Jack Johnson&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Final Battle: Minute by Minute the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;Doobies&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Death Scene: Straw Hat and Old Dirty Hank by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;BNL&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funeral Song: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Rockin&lt;/span&gt; Down the Highway by the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Doobies&lt;/span&gt;....nice!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;End Credits: Down by the River by Neal Young&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wasn't that fun? I think I should have cheated on a few of these....but some of them are &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;strangely&lt;/span&gt; accurate.  Makes me feel like the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;MLB&lt;/span&gt; is watching.....(&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;Simpson's&lt;/span&gt;? No? Fine!)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-2283058522452325828?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/2283058522452325828/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=2283058522452325828&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/2283058522452325828'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/2283058522452325828'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2008/04/its-been-little-while-since-ive-been-on.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-8047966536315717291</id><published>2008-01-01T14:47:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T15:02:53.965-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Happy New Year Everyone!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I caught a glimpse into my future if I don't make some changes to myself starting today.  Through a series of unfortunate events, we ended up at a local bar that we don't particularly like, but we were with friends so it was good.  We were originally going downtown to a slightly better bar.  Really the only difference in the two were the age of the people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there we were, sitting in the dining area which is right near the 'dance floor'. My friend &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Steph&lt;/span&gt; turns to us and says "there we are in 25 years, friends" We all turn to look and see couples dancing and a few circle of girls dancing.  The youngest person out there was at least 45. We all just stared for a little....it was a real eye opener. I don't want to be at a bar with someone who dances like they are on fire. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;I&lt;/span&gt; don't want to be old and dance like I am on fire. I looked over at J1 and saw fear in her eyes.  But then the free Champagne toast came and I had my usual two glasses, so we were &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt;.  And this year all of the liquid stayed in the glass and didn't end up on my shirt!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The night ended with Doug looking frantically for his missing fiance. She was pie-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ied&lt;/span&gt; and went to wait for him in the car. When he got there she wasn't.  He and P.J. started looking outside around the shopping center (the bar is in a shopping center!).  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Steph&lt;/span&gt; went back in the bar to look in the bathrooms but was drawn to the dance floor to dance to 'Hey Ya' by Outcast.  The Boy and J1 went to the bar to look for her in pint and shot glasses (she wasn't there).  I sat outside in case she turned up, but really I just wanted to eat &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Steph's&lt;/span&gt; wings and smoke a cigarette.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We finally found her.  She had wondered to an ice cream shop at the end of the shopping center because she wanted ice cream.  When she saw it was closed at 1am, she simply sat to relax a little.  Doug took her straight to the car and home, while &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;P.J.&lt;/span&gt; went to the bathroom to throw up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all it was a good night.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-8047966536315717291?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/8047966536315717291/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=8047966536315717291&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/8047966536315717291'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/8047966536315717291'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2008/01/happy-new-year-everyone-last-night-i.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-4580388895701433595</id><published>2007-12-27T12:32:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-27T13:09:01.129-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Remembering Santa</title><content type='html'>Since Christmas has now come and gone, I wanted to remember the weeks of preparation, the sweat and tears that goes into one day out of the year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember when I first found out that Santa is not real. I was in 5&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Th&lt;/span&gt; grade (a little old, no?). I knew that the Santa's at the mall weren't real, they were his helpers. But I also knew that there was no way my parents could get up in the middle of the night and lug all those gifts under the tree by themselves! I surely would have heard them. And where would they have hidden the gifts &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;during&lt;/span&gt; the year? I was a very good snoop, and would have found the gifts, which I never did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now my parents did give us gifts along with Santa. That was cool. As I grew older, I thought, No way does one man have the room or the time for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;delivering&lt;/span&gt; all those gifts. The it hit me...He only delivers what we find in our stockings! How simple! Our parents must do the shopping for Santa, and he just delivers the little stuff. I never talked about it with my parents; I didn't want them to know that I knew the truth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, one bright and early Christmas morning, as I got my stocking down and opened the gifts, I received something that I had been wanting for a very long time....a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Koosh Ball&lt;/span&gt;. Remember those? Did I spell it right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Mom!" I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;exclaimed&lt;/span&gt;. "Look!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I know!" she said with a smile "I got the last one at the store"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart sank. They were right.....all my friends who said Santa isn't real were right. I pulled her aside and asked her, once and for all, if he was real. She looked at me, and as her little girl grew up just a little more, she said "no"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't sad. I also didn't feel more grown up for knowing the truth.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-4580388895701433595?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/4580388895701433595/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=4580388895701433595&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/4580388895701433595'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/4580388895701433595'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/12/remembering-santa.html' title='Remembering Santa'/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-4222840733862085961</id><published>2007-12-18T10:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-18T10:38:02.546-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>We put these things called Soft Paws on my cat about a month or so ago...they are plastic covers for his nails so he won't scratch shit up. They are awesome....he likes them and I like them, and the Boy's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;furniture&lt;/span&gt; really likes them.  I fully &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;recommend&lt;/span&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.softpaws.com/"&gt;them.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I was getting ready in the bathroom when I heard my cat biting his nails. He's done this since he was a kitten....most cats do. But he bites his nails like a person does; it's a habit for him. Maybe he learned it by watching me. So anyway, he bit one off! THEN, he started eating it! So I took it away and said "no little man, no!".  I left a note with the soft paw for The Boy to see it when he woke up.  When he got it he called me to let me know there is only one nail covered on the cat; the rest are gone.  I really hope he didn't eat them all.  It's going to be gross.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-4222840733862085961?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/4222840733862085961/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=4222840733862085961&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/4222840733862085961'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/4222840733862085961'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/12/we-put-these-things-called-soft-paws-on.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-2040496298402672535</id><published>2007-12-14T16:17:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-12-14T16:30:16.608-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>There is a girl my age that I work with.  She is probably 4'9'' with heals on.  She's not a 'little person' but she sure is tiny.  She is also not very proportionate....her torso is very short and her legs longer. She also has an ass that you can sit a cup on. Lately I've been wondering what's going to happen when she becomes pregnant.  Where is the baby going to go? Is she going to topple over? Well, if the lady that's all arms and torso that pushes herself around on a skate board can have a baby, then so can the girl I work with.  I've been thinking about this for like 2 months now, and I really want to talk with her about it! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moving along....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight some friends and I are going to watch the Boy and some friends bowl.  At a non-alcoholic bowling alley.  What's the point of no alcohol? This weekend will be a good one; today is good and I have a good feeling about this weekend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-2040496298402672535?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/2040496298402672535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=2040496298402672535&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/2040496298402672535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/2040496298402672535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/12/there-is-girl-my-age-that-i-work-with.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-6014564139906848798</id><published>2007-11-21T15:11:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-21T15:34:29.845-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I leave in about 3 hours to go to NJ for Thanksgiving...spending it with T's family. I don't like calling him T. One of my oldest friends name is Victoria. When her younger sister started talking, she &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;couldn't&lt;/span&gt; say Victoria, all she would say was T. S o calling my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;boyfriend&lt;/span&gt; T makes me think of Victoria. From here on out I will call him Boy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So we're driving up there, leaving here at 6pm. if we are lucky, we'll get there by last call at the local bar, but I think it'll be more like 3am. Then I get to wake up at maybe 9 and help the women of the family cook. Y&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ay&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am looking forward to it though. I get to meet his brother's now fiance...they got &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;engaged&lt;/span&gt; about 2 weeks ago. Nobody in the family likes her, especially Boy. I hope someone throws something. No I don't, but I do expect to see some sideways glances coming from the whole family. There will 16 of us eating, 9 of us staying at his parents house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just glad they like coffee.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-6014564139906848798?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/6014564139906848798/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=6014564139906848798&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/6014564139906848798'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/6014564139906848798'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-leave-in-about-3-hours-to-go-to-nj.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-7739955911656180665</id><published>2007-11-09T14:01:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-11-09T14:18:26.476-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>I want to start a book club.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But not a dumb one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I want a lot of people to be in it.  I don't &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;necessary&lt;/span&gt; need us to discuss it once a month, board meeting style.   I just like the thought of like 10 of my friends reading the same book.  Then one of us can call another and be like "Why did J2 pick this book? The main character lacks meaning" then a week later, the same &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;people&lt;/span&gt; talking "And when Sammy went around the back of the house to see his brother with Mandy! Do you think the author was pulling that from his own life?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then begins the book chats. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each of us picks a different book each month.  If you have the time to read it, great. If you don't, that's &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ok&lt;/span&gt; too.  It hopefully will be a fun thing, not a burden.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-7739955911656180665?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/7739955911656180665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=7739955911656180665&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/7739955911656180665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/7739955911656180665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-want-to-start-book-club.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-4942245846884138718</id><published>2007-11-02T08:53:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-11-09T14:26:08.196-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Ah Friday. The day when everyone is happy because it's the weekend and we don't have to look at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;each other&lt;/span&gt; for two whole days. When you can catch up on the house cleaning, see friends, go shopping and nurse your now day long hangover (getting older sucks).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is a day where I do nothing at work. Working on a Friday is stupid. I've thought about what the world would be like if I didn't ever have to work on a Friday. How nice would that be, to get excited on &lt;em&gt;Thursday&lt;/em&gt;. But then, Thursday would become the new Friday....I'd start to not want to work on &lt;em&gt;Thursdays&lt;/em&gt; now. It would become an endless cycle.....that could go on for a long damn time, until eventually I would owe the universe days. And I can't make up a day to give to the universe...so then what? Would I implode?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday's at work are good for thinking about aforementioned thought. On that note, I'm going to take a real long time to make some coffee and maybe take a walk to the bathroom, just to waste time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-4942245846884138718?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/4942245846884138718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=4942245846884138718&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/4942245846884138718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/4942245846884138718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/11/ah-friday.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-4527043170899042814</id><published>2007-10-25T09:07:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-25T09:18:36.782-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>So here's something....about 5 months ago I quit smoking.  I was doing great! Just every now and then I would smoke when I drank, and even that wasn't so much fun. About a month ago I smoked a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;cigarette&lt;/span&gt; at work.....my first time smoking while not drinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it has gotten to the point now where I need to re-quit.  I have the patch on today (it's the low dose one) and it's great.  Maybe I'll just wear the patch all the time.  Nicotine constantly running through my body is awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wish they had a coffee patch. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Oooo&lt;/span&gt;, better yet, a Miller Lite patch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a different note, living with the BF so far has been so much fun.  He researched cat behavior at work yesterday and informed me of why cats circle through your legs, head-butt  and what their tail is trying to tell you. The little man had a hair ball he was working on and T was really concerned, telling me that maybe the plant by the back door is poisonus to him, because some plants are not really poisonus to us, but they are to cats.  I told him that it was just a hair ball, that the little man is ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He stilll went around to make sure he didn't have anything laying around that would harm LM.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-4527043170899042814?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/4527043170899042814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=4527043170899042814&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/4527043170899042814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/4527043170899042814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/10/so-heres-something.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-8239611349575166120</id><published>2007-10-09T08:59:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-09T09:43:49.820-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Well Hell...I went and did it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am moving in with the BF.....it's something that was going to happen in about a month or two, but it is happening now. Last night we went and picked out new bedroom furniture. A whole big set just for the two of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am ok with this. I am more than ok with this. Sunday night I was over J2's house.  She is getting the pipes in her town home redone, and was just approved for a home equity loan that makes me giddy.  She's doing it, all on her own. And here I am, the first day of the rest of my life.  Moving in with a boy that I hope to live with for the rest of my life.  Two totally different paths.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's all happening.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-8239611349575166120?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/8239611349575166120/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=8239611349575166120&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/8239611349575166120'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/8239611349575166120'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/10/well-hell.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-1219168085071422056</id><published>2007-10-05T09:06:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-05T09:13:07.759-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>This morning I got a call from my mom at 7:30. That's usually the time I wake up for work, but Friday's are a little different. Anyway, this is how it went:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: Hey Mom&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom: Your cats have tape worms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(some screaming and a few tears later)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: How? What? How do you know that? Have you been here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom: Fleas cause tape worms in cats, and at the stage of fleas you have there, they have tape worms.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About a month ago I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;discovered&lt;/span&gt; that my cats have that shit...fleas. So, I bought &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Frontline&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;vacuumed&lt;/span&gt; the crap out of my apartment, then &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;hibernated&lt;/span&gt; at T's for a little while. I've kept on top of it, but the situation has gotten out of hand. I don't know what to do!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom will come over this weekend and help me. I want to vomit. I want to burn everything I have in there. I also want to drop off the cats in a field and flee (&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;haha&lt;/span&gt;) my apartment in the middle of the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THIS is why I can't have kids.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-1219168085071422056?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/1219168085071422056/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=1219168085071422056&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/1219168085071422056'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/1219168085071422056'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/10/this-morning-i-got-call-from-my-mom-at.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-2023266549061817882</id><published>2007-10-02T11:59:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-02T12:08:13.026-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>This past weekend was about kids. I only saw one of them, but they were all around. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want one, but I want to be pregnant.  I also want to hold one while watching t.v.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I don't want one all the time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week I was talking with the girls about you know life, drinking, significant others, the best places in town to pee, and the conversation shifted to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;marriage&lt;/span&gt; and the like. I approach all that with such a business like mind.  I used to think I was being practical.....practicality with emotions. But after talking with them and with T, it's just practicality with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;cynicism&lt;/span&gt; really.  How unromantic am I?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to change that about myself. I do want to spend the rest of my life with T....we are sort of going to move in together sometime soon. Slowly. And I want to keep my own apartment in case something goes wrong, that's why I am taking it slow. SEE?! Why can't I just DO IT.  I know it's a big step, and I know in my heart what feels right and what doesn't. This feels right, totally. But then why the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;safety&lt;/span&gt; net.  My number one reason not to get married is divorce.  My number one rule IF I do get married is separate accounts with one joint for bills.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Between the babies thing and taking the next step.....am I a bad girlfriend?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-2023266549061817882?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/2023266549061817882/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=2023266549061817882&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/2023266549061817882'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/2023266549061817882'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/10/this-past-weekend-was-about-kids.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-2065487022291858948</id><published>2007-08-20T16:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T16:22:21.304-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>T and I were sitting on his couch watching TV last week. I was giving him a foot massage (because I love him, that is the ONLY reason I would touch someone &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;else's&lt;/span&gt; foot. And even that was a fight for me the first time. Now I kind of like doing it, but will never tell him. ) We were talking, and right after I said something he said "You're pretty"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thanks? Did you just realize that you think I'm pretty?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No, like, you're really pretty"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;.......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am going to take that as a complement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He told his friends this past weekend and one of them asked him if he'd been drunk for the past 4 months.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-2065487022291858948?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/2065487022291858948/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=2065487022291858948&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/2065487022291858948'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/2065487022291858948'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/08/t-and-i-were-sitting-on-his-couch.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-4252056430709111665</id><published>2007-07-17T09:07:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-17T09:09:12.111-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Friday is my birthday. I do not want to celebrate this in any way. I am depressed and am not looking forward to the 'Happy Birthday!'s' coming from everyone, because all I want to do is yell back "Is it? Is it?!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I can't.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-4252056430709111665?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/4252056430709111665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=4252056430709111665&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/4252056430709111665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/4252056430709111665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/07/friday-is-my-birthday.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-2916601179240979026</id><published>2007-07-10T09:52:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-10-03T16:12:40.843-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Talked to S this morning. Her Man Friend got drunk last night and text her with 'Thanks for helping this weekend! Love ya!' They have been dating for about one month. Now, this is the way he talks....he says to people and doesn't mean it. But I don't think you can 'joke' around with the 'Love Ya!'s' with the person you are dating. Until you are ready to say it. Is that wrong?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, her roomie broke up with her BF of 5 years. So that is going to be a tough one....S's Man Friend will be coming into town and staying with them for the next 3 weekends or so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight T and I are hosting All American Day at his house, since it is the All Star game for America's favorite past time. It will be alcohol free, but I think that J2 has something up her sleeve....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-2916601179240979026?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/2916601179240979026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=2916601179240979026&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/2916601179240979026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/2916601179240979026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/07/talked-to-s-this-morning.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-8010890535262410007</id><published>2007-07-09T11:09:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2008-01-01T15:06:00.566-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>This weekend I went to the beach with my two favorite J's. J1's Aunt has a condo at Sunset Beach and let us come visit. It was glorious! The weather was perfect, the beers were cold and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;food&lt;/span&gt; delicious. I tried Scallops for the first time and found them to be (almost) as good as....I don't know. They were good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One thing though. I did learn something about people. We all have our own schedules that we live by. That's nothing new. However, when you assume people know about your schedule, that's when we argue with &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;each other&lt;/span&gt;. If I don't know that, by you saying you're going to the bathroom, then 20 minutes emerge ready to go out for the night, you can't look at me like I have 8 heads because I am not ready. I do not know what your schedule is if you do not tell me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is just another part of growing up.  We are all different and have our own way of doing things, and that is OK!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-8010890535262410007?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/8010890535262410007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=8010890535262410007&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/8010890535262410007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/8010890535262410007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/07/this-weekend-i-went-to-beach-with-my.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1718054424191004841.post-3187712143112982924</id><published>2007-07-05T10:20:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2007-07-05T13:57:07.246-04:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>S called me this morning as she was driving home from her Man Friend's house. I was driving to work, still tired from last night's festivities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: Hang on a sec...I'm going to order food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;McG: Ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: Can I get one chicken biscuit, no pickle and one hashbrown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Guy at Chick-fil-A:.......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S:.......&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GC:......Two hashbrowns?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: No. One chicken biscuit, no pickle and one hashbrown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GC: What would you like to drink with that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: Nothing, I just want one chicken biscuit, no pickle, and one hashbrown.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GC: So one sausage biscuit-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;S: NO. One chicken biscuit (she didnt mention the 'no pickles') and one hashbrown!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;GC:....please drive to the window.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The whole time this is going on I'm on the other end, laughing. I don't think it was helping.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1718054424191004841-3187712143112982924?l=dmbdan.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/feeds/3187712143112982924/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1718054424191004841&amp;postID=3187712143112982924&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/3187712143112982924'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1718054424191004841/posts/default/3187712143112982924'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://dmbdan.blogspot.com/2007/07/s-called-me-this-morning-as-she-was.html' title=''/><author><name>McG</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02924182927826178983</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
