<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><rss xmlns:atom='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' version='2.0'><channel><atom:id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920</atom:id><lastBuildDate>Sat, 21 Nov 2009 21:40:28 +0000</lastBuildDate><title>Jenn's Doings</title><description>An amusing attempt to practice my over active imagination.</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/</link><managingEditor>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</managingEditor><generator>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>736</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-4857781956784894295</guid><pubDate>Thu, 19 Nov 2009 04:55:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-11-18T21:11:00.584-08:00</atom:updated><title>Misty Eyed Moron...</title><description>"Who would that be?" you ask.  Me.  Unbelievable amount of tears that seem to seep out of my eyeballs these days.  Make. It. Stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This could border on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;TMI&lt;/span&gt;, but if you're a reader of my blog you know that just about nothing is off limits.  So here goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a very easy monthly visit from Aunt Flow. Very easy.  All my life, (well okay except in 11&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; grade when I pretended to have cramps to get out of gym class.  Only the gym teacher was also our school nurse who informed me "Exercise is good for cramps.") I had no real issues with Aunt Flow.  I was regular, light, and never a moody basket case.  Oh I had mood swings, I won't deny that. I was just never that crazy girl who went on an emotional roller coaster during those precious days each month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Crying was something I left to the serious heartbreaks or losses.  And I assure you there were many heartbreaks in high school and college that brought me knee deep in salty tears.  Still, I felt I was a strong girl. And as Frankie Valli said, "Big Girls Don't Cry" (or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Fergie&lt;/span&gt; for you younger crowd...she said it too).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was rare that I cry in a movie.  I left the sniveling to Blueberry.  She used to cry when we would watch Little House on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Prairie&lt;/span&gt; re-runs in college.  After the show I'd shove the box of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Kleenex&lt;/span&gt; toward her and she'd exclaim, "Pa can always make me cry."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But not me. No way no how. I wasn't a crier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until recently.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently by removing certain girl parts certain other parts feel the need to go into overdrive and leak tears.  Its insane.  I cry at every little thing these days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Break a nail - I burst into tears.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stub my toe - I lose it (but it really hurt)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was watching Ellen tonight and she had a 12 year old kid from the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Philippines&lt;/span&gt; who came out and sang "All By Myself"...it was beautiful...and by the end of the song...weeping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Watch some stinking hallmark commercial about Thanksgiving and sending a loved one in the war a card  -- oh &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;geeze&lt;/span&gt; here I go again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Talk amongst yourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*sniff sniff...&lt;br /&gt;Right.  I'm composed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I am no where near where others are or have been. I can't even imagine going to that place...and if fact just thinking about it makes me cry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctors told me I "could" have some menopausal side affects because the estrogen patch I'm on was such a low dose.  When the said "could" I heard "never".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, here I am getting ready for bed thinking about all the things that made me tear up a bit today (9 times, but who's counting) and suddenly I realize, my EYES ARE LEAKING AGAIN.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;ARGH&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a more positive note, and a note that won't make me cry - I don't think - I have 8 shots left.  E-I-G-H-T!  But again, who's counting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess this is my life now.  Weepy Woman!  And the BEST part is I suspect it'll get worst when I'm in my 50's when the real menopause kicks in. Oh that will be just ducky.  Can't wait. I've got so much to look forward to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SwTS7EvFKuI/AAAAAAAACLA/EnSgaQY2eFY/s1600/menopause.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 297px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SwTS7EvFKuI/AAAAAAAACLA/EnSgaQY2eFY/s400/menopause.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405677365076765410" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you're still reading, stay tuned for my next blog where I discuss my own personal summers that go on too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did manage to go into the office today too. I spent 1/2 of the day getting reacquainted with all the old crew at work.  It was nice to go in and have conversations with people who actually talked back instead of look at you blankly with their black furry face.  I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;may &lt;/span&gt;have over did it.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;May &lt;/span&gt;have.  Still it felt good to get out among the living, non crying people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-4857781956784894295?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/11/misty-eyed-moron.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SwTS7EvFKuI/AAAAAAAACLA/EnSgaQY2eFY/s72-c/menopause.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-8520017943251857396</guid><pubDate>Sun, 15 Nov 2009 22:19:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-11-15T19:54:03.137-08:00</atom:updated><title>Never look backwards or you'll fall down the stairs.</title><description>&lt;div&gt;Not too long ago, I "accidentally" dropped the cat down some stairs.  It wasn't intentional - I swear. It. Was. An. Accident.  I've explained it to him.  I baby-ed him after. I would never do something like that intentional.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The cat, on the other hand, has exacted his revenge today.  I knew he had been plotting, but never really thought he'd follow through.  And yet, today he followed through with his dastardly plan.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let me back up a bit. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yesterday I shot a wedding for the first time. Friends of the family had asked my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;BigBro&lt;/span&gt; to shoot their wedding, and he asked me to be his "second".  The promise was made way back in like August and I never thought then I'd be recovering from a surgery.  Still, I managed to get dressed and off to the wedding (which, by the way was located at the edge of the world - &lt;a href="http://www.ci.enumclaw.wa.us/"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Enumclaw&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;).  I spent as long as I felt I could there and headed home early.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;By the time I got home, I was exhausted.  I needed rest.  So I slept for almost 12 hours, but the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;afore&lt;/span&gt; mentioned cat decided I had had enough sleep (me thinks he may sleep outside tonight).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had been up for about 2 hours and decided to head upstairs to clean out my belly button.  (Side note: not of lint.  But rather the incision there is an open wound and requires some maintenance so it doesn't get infected. ) On my way downstairs, the big black beast of burden was "following" me.  He &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;loves&lt;/span&gt;, &lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;LOVES &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:180%;"&gt;LOVES &lt;/span&gt;to run in front of you and stop. No warning, no nothing. Just a dead stop.  Normally I have my wits about me and catch his evil plot to trip me and step to the side.  Being exhausted and not fully engaged yet, I didn't notice he hadn't moved on to the next step to stop and wait.  Instead, I stepped on him.  Between his whaling and me trying not to break anything on him, I slipped and took a tumble down about 4 steps. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hitting the platform my first thought was, "Bring it on. Is that all you got?" Followed by, "Dear God the pain."  The cat, meanwhile, was at the bottom of the stairs with a coy almost evil smile on his face rubbing his little paws together in triumph. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I managed to get to my feet and thought it best to head back up stairs to survey the damage.  Sore-er now than before, but everything looks okay.  The belly button is quite sore and is "leaking" more than normal.  I may call the doctor tomorrow.  I'm such a pansy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other good news, only 11 more shots! &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Woot&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Woot&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh and my Check Engine light went on in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Stang&lt;/span&gt;.  Bring it!  I can take more.  Despite the cats best effort to put me down, I'm not...what else ya got?  I'm thinking the world is out to get me right now...must be karma.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-8520017943251857396?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/11/never-look-backwards-or-youll-fall-down.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-3308328122419518257</guid><pubDate>Wed, 11 Nov 2009 01:55:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-11-10T18:23:48.436-08:00</atom:updated><title>Total naps today: zero...something's wrong here</title><description>Let it be known by all that today, November 10, be the day I almost blacked out by the number of emails in my two work accounts.  I didn't even know Outlook could hold that many emails and not implode.  I did manage to get through about 10% of them, the easy ones.  And thankfully I had Law &amp;amp; Order: &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;SVU&lt;/span&gt; on all day to help me through.  Then I had Ellen and her show help me through, then Oprah, then the news...and then I realized there's really nothing on daytime TV. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Shot update:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know you care.  But I've now given myself 5 shots.  Five!  10 days ago I never would have imagined giving myself one.  It may not seem like too big of a deal to some, and you may be thinking, 'Enough already.' If you are, too bad - my blog my rules (&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ala&lt;/span&gt; Patron Saint).  I have a mere 15 more to go, but who's counting. Last nights shot hurt like hell though. I hesitated and stuck the needle in slowly. THAT won't happen again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Healing Update:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who knew that healing took so much energy. It saps you.  I never really had a reason to think about what the body goes through after surgery, but now that I've had time to think about it, I guess it makes sense.  I mean it was used to being a certain way and having a few extra parts, then this big claw came in and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;rearranged&lt;/span&gt; and took a few parts.  It's only answer is to take it's own sweet time healing.  I'm in the danger zone now though.  I feel good, and the pain is minimal, and I think I can do things that I know I shouldn't.   I find myself hourly "assuming" I'm well enough - then stop and ask myself if I really should be doing that. Mom would be proud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Stera&lt;/span&gt;-strips Update:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good god those things stick. Which is their job, but man, do they have to take it so seriously.  My finger nail caught one in an attempt to itch the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;incision&lt;/span&gt; (itching apparently means they're healing - who knew?) and tore it a bit...I thought I was going to cry like a baby.  I did check though and all my skin still appears to be in tact.  The curious Girl in me though wants them to come off so I can actually see the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;incisions&lt;/span&gt;, though admittedly I'm not sure I wouldn't pass out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-3308328122419518257?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/11/total-naps-today-zerosomethings-wrong.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-2815288037808412044</guid><pubDate>Sat, 07 Nov 2009 04:38:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-11-06T20:51:52.407-08:00</atom:updated><title>Today is brought you by the number two.</title><description>Two. That's the number of shots I've given myself. Can you believe it? I certainly can't. I don't even gag a little when I do it.  It doesn't hurt and by golly it's almost fun.  Okay that last part is a lie, but still I'm super proud of myself for being able to do something I never thought I'd do. It's amazing what one is capable of when one's life is on the line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of life lines, thank you to EVERY single one of you who has had me in their thoughts and their prayers. I'm positive all that super charged positive energy has helped me the last couple of days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been two days since the surgery and I'm feeling pretty good. Sore.  Very sore at times, but with a little rest and pain medication, all is good in the world.  I've not had any weird side effects from the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;percocet&lt;/span&gt;, but I guess is good.  I heard so many stories I was a bit scared to even take it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Surgery day is a blur really. I remember getting up at O' dark what-time? and driving to NW hospital. The parental units are here taking care of me (okay so it's only mom - but who doesn't want their mommy around in times like these?).  I sailed through &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-op. Managed to stay engaged even with the check in nurse was having troubles finding a vein on one of my hands.  She put this lovely numbing stuff on so I didn't really feel anything but the pressure - which is creepy.  The doc stopped by and the last thing I remembered was someone asking if we were good to go.  Next thing I know I'm being wheeled past the waiting area and hear my last name called out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Blueberry and the units met me in my room. I have a vague recollection of talking to them.  Overall I felt pretty good. I was &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;uber&lt;/span&gt; sore then, but then again...those dandy pain &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;meds&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The staff at Northwest Hospital were fantastic.  A great selection nurses and &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;CNAs&lt;/span&gt; who had excellent bed side manner.  I'll be writing a thank you note to them later this week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I was discharged, only after I passed a few gas bubbles and showed them I could potty all by myself (weird I know).  The ride home was miserable.  Didn't ever realize how many bumps were in the roads, but man there were a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Slept most yesterday afternoon, and then lazed around today - managed to sneak in a 2 hour nap this afternoon in my busy schedule.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all, I feel good.  The soreness grows less and less by the day - getting up out of bed or chairs isn't as painful now.  The four little open cuts I have are healing - I think. It's hard to see really with the bruising around one of them (they actually went through my belly button - sure hope they cleaned it of all the lint first).  My insides seem to be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;jocky'ing&lt;/span&gt; for the new found space.  They were rearranging themselves last night. I think my liver has a new address - I'm just &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;sayin&lt;/span&gt;'.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So again, thank you all for your support. It means the world to me.  I'm sure I'll never be able - oh &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;geez&lt;/span&gt; I'm tearing up - stupid hormones - to express how much it has meant to get so many well wishes.  You're all the best!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now if you'll excuse me, I hear my bed calling.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-2815288037808412044?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/11/today-is-brought-you-by-number-two.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-3968406867031972647</guid><pubDate>Wed, 04 Nov 2009 03:13:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-11-03T19:24:09.979-08:00</atom:updated><title>Emptier than I've ever been...</title><description>Tomorrow is the big day. As it quickly approaches I'm filled with anxiety and a bit of excitement. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The doctor &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;appt&lt;/span&gt; on Monday deemed I was a "perfect" specimen (hey!) for the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;laparscopic&lt;/span&gt; robotic hysterectomy.  Lucky me.  The doc told me, and I quote, "You're set up perfectly."  Who knew I was "set up" perfectly.  I would hope I'm "set up" like all women, but maybe I am more different than you all thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two things came out of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;appt&lt;/span&gt; that didn't please me at all and is the reason for previously mentioned anxiety.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.) I had to starve myself today by an all liquid diet. AND I had to take some nasty stuff that "tastes like cherry" to clean out my innards.  I know &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;TMI&lt;/span&gt;, but still. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.) I get to give myself injections for 21 LONG days after the surgery thanks to my blood clot issue I had a few years ago.  The doctor doesn't want to take any chances, and while I agree with him, I'm sure modern technology allows for another method to thin my blood. Like, can't I just drink more water? Or can't I take a pill?  Why shots?  I expressed my concern to him by nearly begging, but he would not be swayed. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The biggest news of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;appt&lt;/span&gt; was that he will be taking all my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;girly&lt;/span&gt; parts.  He wasn't 100% convinced that the ovaries aren't in danger and so thought while he was in there might as well. My sentiments exactly!  Naturally my first concern was the steep drop into menopause without my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;girly&lt;/span&gt; parts, but rest assured he had an answer for that too.  I get to wear an estrogen patch for 10 more years or however long before I hit menopause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, if you're up on your facts you may know that estrogen was the cause of my blood clots to begin with.  They think.  I was on birth control pills and we all know those are estrogen.  We all do know that right?  So he'll be putting me on an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;extremely&lt;/span&gt; low dose.  AND apparently taking estrogen orally causes way more problems with clots due to something your liver does or doesn't due in processing (frankly I glazed over when he was telling me). Whereas with the patch, it seeps in through your skin, and it's safer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the long run it'll also reduce my risk of breast cancer in my later years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The parental units made it up here and are settling in.  Mom's been laughing at me all day as I've made many, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;many&lt;/span&gt; MANY trips to the little girls room.  And even though I've had nothing to eat today, I'm somewhat surprised at how not hungry I am.  Though I have my mind set on a nice big burger sometime Thursday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted to say a BIG FAT THANK YOU to everyone who has sent me well wishes.  You never really know how much support you're friends will provide until you need it, and I've gotta say, you are all the best friends ever. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So with that, I'm going to go drink some more water and have some orange jello, get a good night sleep and by this time tomorrow I'll be 3lbs lighter and without my girl parts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-3968406867031972647?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/11/emptier-than-ive-ever-been.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-2518616618762883924</guid><pubDate>Sun, 01 Nov 2009 20:10:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-11-02T19:14:36.659-08:00</atom:updated><title>Glitter on the Mattress</title><description>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you see a faded sign on on the side of the road....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399250941148945906" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Su3-H-BgXfI/AAAAAAAACKg/Yk4U84Gc1OE/s400/dmq013.jpg" /&gt; &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes. That's right. The boys of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;DMQ&lt;/span&gt; were the B52's last night. Classic. Absolutely classic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Su3scI2-XzI/AAAAAAAACKQ/92HHMRtbxos/s1600-h/dmq004.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm not a huge B52 fan, &lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Su3-WGQG4tI/AAAAAAAACKo/j7Oi8WACV8Y/s1600-h/dmq007.jpg"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;but at least knew 2 of the 3 songs they sang last night. Rock Lobster and Love Shack. Hearing Rock Lobster rocketed me back to my sophomore year in high school and attending the USA Camp with &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BFF&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Laurakens&lt;/span&gt;. They had a little party for the teams and I remember hearing this song for the first time. Oh the memories. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ahem...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Right, so the boys did a damn good B52 impression. The lead singer sounded shockingly close to the guy in the B52s. Oddly though they didn't sing all 10 of the Top 10 Worst songs. I was a bit bummed, because some of them were way bad. A few on the list they didn't sing: Party All the Time, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sussudio&lt;/span&gt;, You Light Up My Life, a couple more I can't recall. But of the 4 they did sing...wow, were they bad...in a good way. Oh, you want to know what they were? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The #1 of the Top 10 is one of my all time favorite 80's songs...and I admit, it's a bad song. It's the Final Countdown. Other songs they sang: We Built This City by Jefferson &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Starship&lt;/span&gt;, I was Made For Loving You by KISS, and Sister Christian. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;In attendance last night were three, count them, THREE Dudley Virgins: Seattle &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;SIL&lt;/span&gt;, Mrs. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Braspir&lt;/span&gt;, and the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;PMGoddess&lt;/span&gt;. Of the "old" gang partying all the time were Blueberry, myself (of course), &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;PhotoGirl&lt;/span&gt; and The Yank. The place was packed and some pretty darn interesting costumes. Of my crowd we all wore this Pippy &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Longstocking&lt;/span&gt; Witch hats, but The Yank and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;PhotoGirl&lt;/span&gt; out did themselves. One was Major D. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Pression&lt;/span&gt; and the other was General Anxiety and they were both dressed in army &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;fatiques&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5399709404938186802" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Su-fGEutMDI/AAAAAAAACKw/L2Od5-4RF3c/s320/dmq014.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-2518616618762883924?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/11/glitter-on-mattress.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Su3-H-BgXfI/AAAAAAAACKg/Yk4U84Gc1OE/s72-c/dmq013.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-4035595007323951732</guid><pubDate>Sat, 31 Oct 2009 18:37:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-31T11:59:31.713-07:00</atom:updated><title>Happy Halloweeny! You weeny!</title><description>&lt;div&gt;Did you get your fill of Ma Nah Ma Nah? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Tonight is the annual Dudley Manlove Spooktacular (that's for you PMDude). I can't wait. A load of Dudley virgins are coming with me tonight. They have no idea how their lives are going to change after tonight. Who do you think the boys will dress up as? Madonna's? The Bangles? We shall see. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yesterday was a rough day for the cat who owns this place. I'm sure when he woke up in the morning and started the diatribe of "feed me", he didn't think he'd be stuffed in a box three times and stuck in the Stang each time and the off times outta the stang stuffed in the bathroom. Because had he known ... well he wouldn't have gotten out of bed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The day started like most. He got fed. Yet he hadn't read the memo indicating the Fire people were coming to check the systems. According to the landlords I had to be out as did the cat for the "test" all day. I had no idea what to do with the cat "all day". I mean it's a cat. I can't take him to work.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had a 9AM call and I just knew the fire people would show up in the middle of the car. So to avoid having to explain to a client what the screeching noise in the background was, I thought I'd take the call from Tullys. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had already stuffed the cat into the bathroom - he was already aware that something wa&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuyIr4lTj6I/AAAAAAAACKI/xAhuAqjwOq4/s1600-h/blackcat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 185px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398840340814991266" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuyIr4lTj6I/AAAAAAAACKI/xAhuAqjwOq4/s200/blackcat.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;s up. At 20 till I stuffed the cat into the "Live Animal" box (it cracks me up that it says "Live Animal". I mean as if you'd be shipping a dead one.) and headed downstairs to leave. At the bottom of the stairs I had to stop and open the garage door. I carefully put the Live Animal up 5 steps so I could open the door. I turned and that's when my calves were slammed by said Live Animal. Poor cage and kitty tumbled down the flight of stairs. I started giggling at the thought of Pookie being in the spin cycle. He was unharmed, just a bit frightened I think. Oh if he only knew what was next. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;He got put in the stang and off we went. The Tully's is all of less than a quarter of a mile and let me tell you, he had a few things to say on the way. I left him in the car and went into Tullys. Finished the call and headed home. He was none too happy to have been left. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Back at home, back into the bathroom. The look on his face was, "Just wait. " &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Again, we had to leave to get lunch. He and went to Subway. Usually he likes Subway turkey, not so much this time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;One last trip came as the inspection boys showed up. This time we only sat in the Stang in a parking spot. I tried turning on the radio thinking that music calms the savage beast. That's a lie. The savage beast out sang the 80's hair band belting out a ballad. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;At last, he was freed from his captivity. I didn't see him for most the rest of the day. Finally he showed his furry face and managed to settle down on the couch. He no sooner closed his eyes and the fire alarm went of. I didn't see the black blurr, just saw the fur still hanging in the air. You know how in cartoons the character jumps and appears to be running in place in mid air...then they bolt? Yah, that's what this looked like. About 8pm last night he came sleeking downstairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He survived. I survived. I have yet to find the "treats" I'm sure he's left me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-4035595007323951732?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/10/happy-halloweeny-you-weeny.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuyIr4lTj6I/AAAAAAAACKI/xAhuAqjwOq4/s72-c/blackcat.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-5205409328576230514</guid><pubDate>Mon, 26 Oct 2009 23:20:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-26T16:20:31.828-07:00</atom:updated><title>Ma Nah Ma Nah</title><description>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object height='350' width='425'&gt;&lt;param value='http://youtube.com/v/HS7GQFxoHKg' name='movie'/&gt;&lt;embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/HS7GQFxoHKg'/&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Oh man  I soo needed this...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-5205409328576230514?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/10/ma-nah-ma-nah.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-241355147214525421</guid><pubDate>Sun, 25 Oct 2009 15:51:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-25T10:44:26.464-07:00</atom:updated><title>The Great Pumpkin Carving...Part VIII</title><description>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuSN4i2M-bI/AAAAAAAACKA/xlEGAapKvBM/s1600-h/IMG_6174.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396594256063035826" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuSN4i2M-bI/AAAAAAAACKA/xlEGAapKvBM/s400/IMG_6174.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Thought I would add two more photos of the event...and Blogger is being a Pain so I can't move them down in the thread...but Pumpkin Peeps and Spider Cupcakes finished out the evening.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuSN4O1ov8I/AAAAAAAACJ4/Y9b1NAV820g/s1600-h/IMG_6173.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396594250691952578" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuSN4O1ov8I/AAAAAAAACJ4/Y9b1NAV820g/s400/IMG_6173.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuR2c1OG3bI/AAAAAAAACJg/60NzKE6yvpg/s1600-h/The+layout.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396568491191360946" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuR2c1OG3bI/AAAAAAAACJg/60NzKE6yvpg/s400/The+layout.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've lost count at how many of these I've had. It's relatively annual and I think I started in like 1998 or something. I'm trying to remember where I was living so I can pin point the year. Still, last night was the "8&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;" annual Great Pumpkin Carving at &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Chez&lt;/span&gt; Jenn's. As expected all was in rare form and as creative they could be with pumpkins. This year I decided to let everyone bring their "scariest" appetizers. And naturally we had WAY too much food, but we did our best to get rid of it. (BTW I tried the Trader Joe version of chicken &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;gyoza&lt;/span&gt;...&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;OMG&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;sooo&lt;/span&gt; good).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the photos are &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jennwraspir/sets/72157622659064400/"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;, if you dare.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I decided to step outside the box this year and carve a WHITE pumpkin. Which by the way I've never done...so guess what's been added to the list of 40?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went for the pirate theme on accident. I started by carving the top off, digging out the guts and then wanting to be 'creative' when Mr. Volleyball suggested square eyes. Okay. Square. And we were doing well until one cut went too far - thus the notches. It's all in how you improvise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuR02lbasSI/AAAAAAAACJY/jlazNY0a4oE/s1600-h/argh.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396566734605562146" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuR02lbasSI/AAAAAAAACJY/jlazNY0a4oE/s400/argh.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; I'm always amazed how people go about their carving. Some dig on in like Blueberry and others have to serious contemplate where to cut - Like &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ChickenLady&lt;/span&gt;. She wanted her pumpkin to "talk" to her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuR02enemtI/AAAAAAAACJQ/IIoouWgvtaA/s1600-h/thethinker.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 267px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 400px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396566732777102034" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuR02enemtI/AAAAAAAACJQ/IIoouWgvtaA/s400/thethinker.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So drum roll please.........&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here are the finished products. Left to right: Kim used a template, but you can't really see how good it was, mine, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ChickenLady's&lt;/span&gt; Spider, Blueberry's Big Eyes, Mr. Volleyball and The Dane's unfinished drawn on &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;gourd&lt;/span&gt;, and Claudia's tree carved pumpkin. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Ooo&lt;/span&gt; La La.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuR01ytb6II/AAAAAAAACJI/NUQTX82c4Mk/s1600-h/thelot.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 106px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396566720990931074" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuR01ytb6II/AAAAAAAACJI/NUQTX82c4Mk/s400/thelot.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;The Pumpkin Murderer's: Me, Kim, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ChickenLady&lt;/span&gt;, Blueberry, The Dane, Claudia and Mr. Volleyball.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 267px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396566720092410290" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuR01vXNkbI/AAAAAAAACJA/K9G-U8XRuIE/s400/thegang.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;p&gt;If you weren't there you missed out. AND you may have been taken off the dinner rotation at &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Chez&lt;/span&gt; Jenn's. Unless you have a good excuse...and I mean a &lt;em&gt;good&lt;/em&gt; excuse. Like maybe being in another state, that might be a good excuse. Might be....&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-241355147214525421?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/10/great-pumpkin-carvingpart-viii.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SuSN4i2M-bI/AAAAAAAACKA/xlEGAapKvBM/s72-c/IMG_6174.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-8171975367254447768</guid><pubDate>Sat, 24 Oct 2009 04:24:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-23T21:56:04.290-07:00</atom:updated><title>Along with the Sunshine, there's gonna be a little rain sometime.</title><description>First let's start with the good news.  Not that there's bad news, per &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;se&lt;/span&gt;, but let us begin with good news.  Solid good news.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ROCKED THE &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;CASBAH&lt;/span&gt; TODAY IN A QUARTERLY BUSINESS &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;REVEIW&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's more, the feedback from a major player was so astonishing to me that I almost felt like I could do anything. I found renewed faith in doing a good job.  I felt confidence I hadn't felt in a long time.  The interesting thing to me, this last wave of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;positive&lt;/span&gt; feedback comes on the heals of other good and interesting comments made by friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right, so the not so good news.  If you are one of those friends of mine who find I share too much information on this blog. You should turn away now.  Don't read further.  I'm about to disclose some rather personal information - and I don't want to hear from you that I share too much.  You've been warned.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get to have a hysterectomy.  I know. Don't be jealous.  You wish you were this fortunate. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out that after the last little procedure the doctors found some nasty little &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-killer cells.  There are two options for me. One of which isn't really an option and the other is a hysterectomy.  Me? At just 40?  Seems so surreal to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've had about a week to take this all in and I've had some very quiet evenings at home to have little freak out sessions.  I'm feeling pretty normal now.  Scared to death and yet I feel in control of my destiny.  I know that this surgery is one of the most common that women go through and rarely have any serious issues related to it.  And I know that this surgery will save my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And that is what got me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Realizing that removing an "organ" that I really haven't needed means that cells that were only interested in killing me will be removed.  Stupid cells.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Hah&lt;/span&gt;. I'll show you.  You won't win. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Neener&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Neener&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And besides, I've been informed that I'll really have the best of both worlds.  I won't have Aunt Flow visit monthly AND I won't be in menopause (they aren't taking the ovaries). So really, this could be a good thing, right?  No. It IS a good thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm adding a hysterectomy to my list of 40 new things. Funny little thing life, I had no idea &lt;em&gt;this&lt;/em&gt; would be one of my "new" things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wanna an update of my 40 things?  I know you do. I'm starting to think I may not make 40 things, but ... we'll we shall see.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  Starbucks Instant Coffee - &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Nummers&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  Boss and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BossBoss&lt;/span&gt; for Dinner at my house&lt;br /&gt;3.  Podiatrist visit&lt;br /&gt;4. Walk of Hope&lt;br /&gt;5.  5K Run Photography&lt;br /&gt;6.  Grease at the 5&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; Ave&lt;br /&gt;7.  Roller Derby - &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_11" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;YeeHaw&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  New place to live&lt;br /&gt;9.  Read 100 new books - 67 read to date&lt;br /&gt;10.  Volunteering for the Getting Started Meetings (3Day)&lt;br /&gt;11.  Volunteer photographer for 3Day&lt;br /&gt;12.  Pampered Chef party&lt;br /&gt;13.  3 Day Expo Volunteer&lt;br /&gt;14.  Race For The Cure Volunteer Photographer&lt;br /&gt;15.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_12" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;iL&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_13" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Divo&lt;/span&gt; (&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_14" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ooo&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_15" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;lala&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;16.  Ducks Tour&lt;br /&gt;17.  Dueling Pianos (and really bad food)&lt;br /&gt;18.  Volunteer for Survivor Brunch&lt;br /&gt;19.  Try over 100 new recipes (I need to count these - I think I'm around 65)&lt;br /&gt;20.  Ultra sound&lt;br /&gt;21.  &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_16" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Hysteroscopy&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. Hysterectomy&lt;br /&gt;23.  Volunteer Photographer for Gala&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things I still need to do:&lt;br /&gt;1. Glass Museum&lt;br /&gt;2. Smith Tower&lt;br /&gt;3. Photograph a Wedding&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm at a loss now...I need more new things people!&lt;br /&gt;4.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-8171975367254447768?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/10/along-with-sunshine-theres-gonna-be.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-1241568273842959390</guid><pubDate>Tue, 20 Oct 2009 05:07:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-19T22:32:12.526-07:00</atom:updated><title>The World IS out to get me...</title><description>Sitting in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dr&lt;/span&gt;. office this afternoon for the "No big deal" post op, I felt confident that in fact the little bugger of a surgery would be "no big deal."  As I sat and waited for the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;dr&lt;/span&gt;. to come in, I glanced around the sterile room.  My mind focused entirely on getting out of there and back to work...I mean, I have things to do. This little visit should be quick. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My eyes take in the room.  The counter tops are covered with baby stuff - or rather anti baby stuff.  I'm slightly amused with the "models" they have on the counter top.  The calendar is of babys, the pamphlets are all about either having or not having a baby.  Everything around me is about having kids.  Naturally.  And somewhat ironically.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a soft knock on the door and in walks Doc.  She seems a bit apprehensive, but she starts jabbering on asking me how I felt after the surgery.   We banter back and forth about the entire process and finally she clears her throat.  "I've received the pathology report."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something in me felt cold.  I had a bad feeling about what was coming next.  My hands were suddenly clammy and I was sure my face was white as snow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She smiles softly and proceeds to tell me about the results.  She mutters off large words that are incomprehensible to me. I nod politely and act as if I understand what she's saying.  I remind myself to pay attention as I am immediately taken back to my semester in Mexico where I simply nodded yes regardless of what I understood.  It didn't have any real &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;consequences&lt;/span&gt; then, but it could now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tell myself to focus and get back into the conversation just to hear the words "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;pre&lt;/span&gt;-cancerous".  Wait what?  I'm too young for the C word.  She did not just say the C word? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shaking my head I ask her go over that one more time, and please use words a 2 year old would understand. She proceeds to explain about &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;atypia&lt;/span&gt; cells.  They are just abnormal cells, that may or may not be cancerous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The bottom line is this...I have to make a decision about how to proceed.  I have two options.  One of which isn't at all something I think I want to do. Which leaves option 2.  Option 2, not something I thought a 40 year old would have done. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still, as she wrote down the pathology report terms and a phone number for a referral to an - gulp - oncologist I found myself suddenly a bit numb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The "C" word and the "O" word in one day. Surely that just proves my point in the title of this blog. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must have appeared like death warmed over because she patted my hand and said she was merely referring me to these doctors as they specialize in a "robotic" method and wants me to discuss  my options with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right so &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;nothings&lt;/span&gt; cancerous now. But could be. Maybe or Maybe not in the future.  How does one make a decision based on that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the end, I toddle off to the car I'm playing the visit over and over in my mind. Freaked out to say the least, I pour myself into my car. Comforted by the warmth of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Stang&lt;/span&gt; and the really bad 80's tune.  I take a moment and breath.  Closing my eyes to really think about what just happened.  And I did what any normal woman would do after this type of doctor's visit....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;... I drove to Starbucks!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-1241568273842959390?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/10/world-is-out-to-get-me.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-7651750108039926098</guid><pubDate>Wed, 14 Oct 2009 04:38:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-13T21:38:02.955-07:00</atom:updated><title>Maybe Tonight, Maybe tomorrow</title><description>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object height='350' width='425'&gt;&lt;param value='http://youtube.com/v/XoPb_KS39u8' name='movie'/&gt;&lt;embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/XoPb_KS39u8'/&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;In case you've not noticed it's Breast Cancer Awareness month.  So for you ladies out there, check your boobies.  For you men who have ladies you care about - and can get away with it - help them check their boobies (oh and check you're own too 3% of men can be diagnosed with breast cancer).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was turned on to this song by a video from Young Survivors and it just touched my heart.  Give it a listen.  Read the lyrics too - I promise you, you'll feel it - in your throat as you get all choked up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe Tonight, Maybe Tomorrow - Wideawake&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard the news today.&lt;br /&gt;It came out of nowhere.&lt;br /&gt;I wish I could run away,&lt;br /&gt;but where would I go?&lt;br /&gt;Is this my destiny?&lt;br /&gt;Something so unfair...&lt;br /&gt;What will become of me?&lt;br /&gt;God only knows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And they say the road to heaven might lead us back through hell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow,&lt;br /&gt;we will win this fight and bury this sorrow.&lt;br /&gt;We're so alive, still holding on, not ready to die,&lt;br /&gt;so we LIVESTRONG.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My pride is left for dead,&lt;br /&gt;as my world gets shaken.&lt;br /&gt;The thoughts inside my head&lt;br /&gt;are so hard to control.&lt;br /&gt;I am staring down the unknown,&lt;br /&gt;but one thing is certain.&lt;br /&gt;You could break my body,&lt;br /&gt;but you will never break my soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And they say the road to heaven might leads us back through hell, but we're holding on for more than stories to tell.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow,&lt;br /&gt;we will win this fight and bury this sorrow.&lt;br /&gt;We're so alive, still holding on, not ready to die,&lt;br /&gt;so we LIVESTRONG.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-7651750108039926098?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/10/maybe-tonight-maybe-tomorrow.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-8305467447891181499</guid><pubDate>Sat, 10 Oct 2009 20:14:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-10T13:34:52.846-07:00</atom:updated><title>Around the house...</title><description>I felt the urge to get the camera out today, but didn't want to go too far in my adventures. I decided to wonder around the house and neighborhood and see what I could conjure up for the fall and halloween.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuY4GbWCI/AAAAAAAACHg/PNvrR6xV82M/s1600-h/fall001.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuY4GbWCI/AAAAAAAACHg/PNvrR6xV82M/s400/fall001.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391070865106098210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Pookie...the scariest spook of them all!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDu0u65OWI/AAAAAAAACIw/6qwAozfAZeg/s1600-h/fall006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDu0u65OWI/AAAAAAAACIw/6qwAozfAZeg/s400/fall006.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391071343678142818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A few Lizard Legs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuZz7h9dI/AAAAAAAACHw/fKEm3yqCvRA/s1600-h/fall009.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuZz7h9dI/AAAAAAAACHw/fKEm3yqCvRA/s400/fall009.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391070881166521810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;A ghostly tale&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuZXGua5I/AAAAAAAACHo/x2aX_fULfkk/s1600-h/fall00%3D10.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuZXGua5I/AAAAAAAACHo/x2aX_fULfkk/s400/fall00%3D10.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391070873428847506" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Eye of Newt&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuszLc0UI/AAAAAAAACIg/QrPeUaaRDxU/s1600-h/fall008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuszLc0UI/AAAAAAAACIg/QrPeUaaRDxU/s400/fall008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391071207382372674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Uncarved&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDurrgJe4I/AAAAAAAACII/hNC-RRshVjY/s1600-h/fall004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDurrgJe4I/AAAAAAAACII/hNC-RRshVjY/s400/fall004.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391071188141833090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuahCBJBI/AAAAAAAACIA/Xjl2wHB4A6k/s1600-h/fall003.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuahCBJBI/AAAAAAAACIA/Xjl2wHB4A6k/s400/fall003.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391070893273326610" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuseDKS_I/AAAAAAAACIY/Rq36TzK9WNI/s1600-h/fall007.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 266px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuseDKS_I/AAAAAAAACIY/Rq36TzK9WNI/s400/fall007.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391071201710459890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;My favorite flower&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuseDKS_I/AAAAAAAACIY/Rq36TzK9WNI/s1600-h/fall007.jpg"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDusBnP_KI/AAAAAAAACIQ/aaPZyNfwsT0/s1600-h/fall005.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDusBnP_KI/AAAAAAAACIQ/aaPZyNfwsT0/s400/fall005.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391071194077199522" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Fall Foliage&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuaWkaJiI/AAAAAAAACH4/yhAmyfN2flQ/s1600-h/fall002.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 266px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuaWkaJiI/AAAAAAAACH4/yhAmyfN2flQ/s400/fall002.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391070890464781858" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Skeli-mingos!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-8305467447891181499?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/10/around-house.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/StDuY4GbWCI/AAAAAAAACHg/PNvrR6xV82M/s72-c/fall001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-3220449674298544043</guid><pubDate>Sat, 10 Oct 2009 02:22:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-09T19:40:28.878-07:00</atom:updated><title>Better out then in I always say...</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Ss_wmzwBHvI/AAAAAAAACGI/GgutqJI0Fd8/s1600-h/IMG_0293.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 291px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Ss_wmzwBHvI/AAAAAAAACGI/GgutqJI0Fd8/s400/IMG_0293.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390791828503076594" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And with that I can add two more new things to my list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Surgery&lt;br /&gt;2. General Anesthesia&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Surgery was a simple little procedure to remove a growth, nothing serious and nothing to worry about.  At least that's what I kept telling myself. I wasn't so worried about the surgery as much as I was about the General.  Not having every been put "under" before I was, understandably, concerned.  You know, with me being a "control freak" and all, I was having issues with the idea of being "out of my own control." The idea of going to sleep in one room and waking up in another, was a bit much for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still the morning started like most mornings, up early.  Seattle &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;SIL&lt;/span&gt; picked me up and drove me to the surgery center.  By the time I was checked in and walking down the corridor to the operating room (with a slight breeze on my back side I might add) I had met 9 new friends from nurses to pharmacy dropper off-ers, to Dr. FeelGood(anesthesia guy - who was hilarious BTW.  Who knew Dr.s could have a sense of humor?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was gently guided into the operating room by Mr. FeelGood. I momentarily laughed at myself because the op table looked like a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;crucifixion&lt;/span&gt; table.  Nursey-poo directed me to the table and indicated that she had been warming the bed for me...and she said, "Hop on up!"  Right..hop...that's funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still Dr. FeelGood and the Nursey-poo were working in tandem to keep me occupied while they forced a needle into my vein and began the prep work. Finally I noticed I had a needle in my arm, and clear fluid dripping into it. "Oh you're good," I said to Dr. FeelGood.  He just smiled and said, "I'm putting the sleepy drug into you now...you should start to feel...." and that was all she wrote.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some time later I was being tugged awake by another nurse asking how I felt.  "Drunk!" That's how I felt.  Like I had had a few too many Cosmos. After a few minutes, I was able to get up and stumble my way to the restroom to dress.  I giggled out loud at myself trying to put my pants on after what felt like one helluva a fun night (with non of the calories).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Outside there was my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;SIL&lt;/span&gt; and a nice little recliner chair for me to sit and drool in (okay - so I didn't drool).  Finally, Miss &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Pharm&lt;/span&gt;-Oh-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Looky&lt;/span&gt;-At-The-Fun-Drugs stopped by to give me my prescription for &lt;a href="http://www.drugs.com/hydrocodone.html"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;hydrocodone&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of which I won't need to take. I feel great. No pain. No nothing.  Just starving and in need for some &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;caffeine&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So thanks everyone for your well wishes and good thoughts. They clearly worked. Hopefully now I can get back to life on the fast lane. (Insert Eagle's Song &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Kf51M3govXY&amp;amp;feature=related"&gt;Here&lt;/a&gt;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-3220449674298544043?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/10/better-out-then-in-i-always-say.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Ss_wmzwBHvI/AAAAAAAACGI/GgutqJI0Fd8/s72-c/IMG_0293.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-4599326813559041486</guid><pubDate>Wed, 07 Oct 2009 02:44:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-10-06T20:03:23.535-07:00</atom:updated><title>Sometimes I'd like to hide away somewhere and lock the door...</title><description>I had myself a very Pink weekend. I know you're not overly surprised that I be involved with some pink, are you?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Saturday, &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BigBro&lt;/span&gt;, Seattle &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sisterinlaw&lt;/span&gt;, Blueberry, and Blueberry's sister all attended the Drink beyond Pink. It was a silent auction that was sponsored by Young Survival Coalition. They made a bunch of $$ to help fight breast cancer. Sadly, I didn't buy anything because a girl has to save $$ to pay medical bills here shortly. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then Sunday &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BigBro&lt;/span&gt;, Seattle &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;SIL&lt;/span&gt;, Blueberry and I stepped to it and walked a the Walk of Hope 5K. It was great to get out and do some walking. I've been sidelined - mostly by myself - because of the bruised balls of my feet. The 5K was a nice stroll through a nice park here in Seattle. The sun was shining so I did all I could to ignore any pain the footsies were feeling. Only later did the feet really hurt. But it was for a good cause.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389687908146417858" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SswEmL9JEMI/AAAAAAAACGA/B3mBfgZmMIQ/s400/9216_158218764984_538274984_2589681_6082877_n.jpg" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had an interesting dream last night which brought on the title to this blog. I've been struggling lately with dealing with over-bearing ego (&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;OBE&lt;/span&gt;) types lately. I let too much get to me and it gets me all wound up. This dream made me laugh when I woke up. Dreams, they say, are your &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;subconscious&lt;/span&gt; doing some filtering of thoughts, issues, etc. This dream there was no doubt what it was telling me to do. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was married - which isn't the odd part, I'm getting there. Suddenly these little alien "bugs" were everywhere. They would dig in and get under my skin. They were painful to say the least. WE tried everything to kill them. We stumbled onto happy thoughts, and letting go of things as one method to kill them. And if that didn't work, apparently sawdust killed them. I carried a can of sawdust with me for sticking my hands into it on a whim to kill them. And we had a swimming pool of sawdust in the back yard too, just in case. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So what do you think? You think those little alien bugs are my &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;OBE&lt;/span&gt;? Maybe I should start giving in to the "just let it go" idea. Something has to start working, or this girl is going to go INSANE. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;In other non useful news you may want to know, we are getting very close to the "procedure" date. Friday I'll be adding another "new" thing to my list by having a little procedure done (they are calling it a surgery because they put me out - which by the way is another new thing).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then, I guess after that I get to add paying medical bills to my list of new things. The first few came in already and let's just say someone is going to have to start scraping pennies together and start reviewing her spending habit again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-4599326813559041486?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/10/sometimes-id-like-to-hide-away.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SswEmL9JEMI/AAAAAAAACGA/B3mBfgZmMIQ/s72-c/9216_158218764984_538274984_2589681_6082877_n.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-2675951718775213219</guid><pubDate>Thu, 01 Oct 2009 04:34:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-30T21:34:30.824-07:00</atom:updated><title>Be The Cure</title><description>&lt;div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object height='350' width='425'&gt;&lt;param value='http://youtube.com/v/lV_D-5CLCvM' name='movie'/&gt;&lt;embed height='350' width='425' type='application/x-shockwave-flash' src='http://youtube.com/v/lV_D-5CLCvM'/&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;When Blueberry was diagnosed with breast cancer 5 - almost 6 years ago - I was beside myself. I couldn't even believe that this was happening to 1) some so young and 2) someone my age. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She was fortunate to have stellar healthcare that really covered the majority of what she went through. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After she was clean and clear I started thinking about ways I could give back.  It didn't dawn on me right away to volunteer for Susan G. Komen, and in fact I'm not sure what made me decide to do it, but I did.  I don't get to volunteer as much as I would like, but I am proud to say I'm a part of the Puget Sound affiliate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The affiliate has really made enormous strides in our community.  Amoung the issues they focus on is helping those who don't have healthcare get through it.  Blueberry was fortunate, but so many, especially low income, aren't and need that assistance. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you have 5 minutes to spare, take a look at this video and all that the Puget Sound affiliate does.  Some of the data they provide is shocking to me.  I mean one woman every 3 minutes will be diagnosed with breast cancer and 1 woman will die ever 13 minutes.  In the time it's taken me to write this blog, well, let's just say that's 2 or 3 too many. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-2675951718775213219?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/09/be-cure.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-3628578196483784506</guid><pubDate>Wed, 30 Sep 2009 04:23:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-29T21:38:55.136-07:00</atom:updated><title>There Are No Bad Days...</title><description>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know we've all had it. That one experience that suddenly jolts you back to the reality of it all. Where you're reminded just what it's all about? That one moment when you put away all your petty complaints and see life, raw and pure. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had one of those experiences last week. It was such a powerful experience that even today I'm shaken to my core just &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;thinking&lt;/span&gt; about it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss my life. I hate the fact that I'm working long hours and feeling like its all for nothing. I miss enjoying my job. I miss actually getting up in the morning and wanting to go to work. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I keep telling myself I can hold out. That it's just a little bit longer. That "little bit" turns into weeks...months...but it won't be years. Come January I may have to make some difficult decisions. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Before that though I have to get through it. I've had some pretty crappy days lately. The come home, drop your bag where ever it falls, pour a bottle of wine and break down - type of days. It sucks. It truly sucks. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was having one of those days last week. I got up early for yet another early morning at the office. I trudged my way through getting ready that morning. Cursing at the fact that I knew, I KNEW I'd spend another 12 hours working frantically and not even seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I remember wondering if I was even &lt;em&gt;in&lt;/em&gt; the tunnel yet. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I drove to work not really noticing anything. Was it sunny out? Who knew? Was it raining? Did I run over any squirrels? Pedestrians? Did I run a stop light? Just going through the motions.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got to Starbucks. A small beacon of hope to me. It meant that at least I knew my coffee would be good. That for the next hour I could sip on something that I knew would make me feel good, if only for a moment. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There was just one woman in front of me when I got in the store. They're pretty fast there and they know me so its rare I have to wait. The woman paid and walked away to wait for her cup of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;joe&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I greeted the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;barista&lt;/span&gt; - thrilled that they knew my drink and even asked if I had my sleeve with me today (I have a special re-useable sleeve thats a flamingo pattern). I paid and turned to wait with the woman in front of me. I noticed her shirt was pink. I've been trained to look at pink and think "breast cancer". Her shirt had writing on it. I glanced again to see if I could see what it said. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then I gasped. Right there in Starbucks, and another shitty day - it all became clear to me. It was like a big huge bulb went on and everything was good. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Her shirt read: SURVIVOR: There are no bad days!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Suddenly, my problems didn't seem so bad. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 275px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 173px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387114457911716402" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SsLgDqwy6jI/AAAAAAAACFw/U9EEZw0sDaQ/s400/nobaddays.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-3628578196483784506?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/09/there-are-no-bad-days.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SsLgDqwy6jI/AAAAAAAACFw/U9EEZw0sDaQ/s72-c/nobaddays.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-1137650222362886304</guid><pubDate>Sun, 20 Sep 2009 21:32:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-20T20:57:18.006-07:00</atom:updated><title>"Here's a riddle for you, Find the answer: There's a reason for the world, You and I"</title><description>Holy Sunny Sunday!  What a whirlwind day.  I took refuge in the thought that yesterday I didn't have to do a darn thing. And you know what? I didn't.  Oh that's not completely true, I did do a load of laundry, and I did go up stairs a couple of times to pee...but other than that, the Big Black Beast of Burden and I sat on the couch and watched romantic comedies all day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I was up and out the door to volunteer for the Susan G. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Komen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Survivor Brunch.  I missed last year's volunteer opportunity, but was thrilled to be able to help out this year.  For several of their other events I've done photography of the volunteer staff. This year they had professional photographers so I got to actually do some of the work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Srb4lshGcMI/AAAAAAAACFQ/jbPSYK-j0Gg/s1600-h/cruise.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Srb4lshGcMI/AAAAAAAACFQ/jbPSYK-j0Gg/s320/cruise.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383763731056849090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year's event was on a Holland American cruise ship in Seattle. They sure know how to do it up right.  I sat at the registration booth and help welcome in 400 Survivors and co-survivors for this brunch.  I always get such a thrill when I see so many beautiful women in one place who have fought against a disease and have won, and sitting next to them is someone who was right there with them through the whole battle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Srb3ybgwWYI/AAAAAAAACFA/bOZlQrNXG0E/s1600-h/blueberry_jenn.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Srb3ybgwWYI/AAAAAAAACFA/bOZlQrNXG0E/s320/blueberry_jenn.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383762850318670210" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I got to not only sit next to Blueberry, but on the other side of me was a 29 year Survivor.  She told me her story of courage and how different things were 29 years ago.  Suddenly I was overcome by the view of just what Susan G. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Komen&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; has been fighting for all these years.  Here I sat, a relatively healthy young woman who hasn't a clue what the battle is like, and next to me is a woman who fought this battle by herself 29 years ago with 2 small children.  Strength.  That's all I could think of...pure strength.  I hope my strength is never tested like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I said, I was sitting next to Blueberry.  As each Survivor entered the ship they were given a raffle ticket - oh sorry they are "opportunity drawing tickets".  Then you could purchase more tickets for $10 a piece. Blueberry decided to buy another ticket.  The main drawing event was a 7 day cruise donated by Holland America.  The cruise options were: the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Caribbean&lt;/span&gt;, Alaska, New England or Mexico.  They start reading the number. I'm leaning over Blueberry saying, "Oh my god. Oh my god." with each number that passes.  Six numbers later and she's a winner!  Yes that's right Blueberry won the 7 day cruise for 2 people.  You gotta know I just stared at her and made her almost promise I'd be her +1 on this cruise. Of course I may now have to be nice to her for a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Srb5ULj21_I/AAAAAAAACFY/2glccFacbsA/s1600-h/blueberry_winner.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Srb5ULj21_I/AAAAAAAACFY/2glccFacbsA/s320/blueberry_winner.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383764529663891442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-1137650222362886304?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/09/heres-riddle-for-you-find-answer-theres.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Srb4lshGcMI/AAAAAAAACFQ/jbPSYK-j0Gg/s72-c/cruise.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-640261494823052327</guid><pubDate>Wed, 16 Sep 2009 03:35:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-16T09:13:18.299-07:00</atom:updated><title>Risin' up, back on the street, Did my time, took my chances</title><description>&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;I'm blessed. I got to spend three long, glorious days chasing three amazing people around Everette and Seattle. My walkers did it! All three walked the 60 miles in what was, at times, blistering heat. But they prevailed. They did not let it stop them. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;This year I got to experience the 3 Day as an observer. I think I actually cried more. In fact, I'm tearing up now as I think about seeing my walkers crest a hill to the first cheering station. The overwhelming feeling of being part of something so huge. Something so great. And something so worthwhile&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;As I sit and struggle with how to explain the 3 Day I thought the perhaps some excerpts from the closing and opening ceremonies speech best said what I felt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Read them and embrace the spirit. But first...watch the video of our trip. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;object width="320" height="266" class="BLOG_video_class" id="BLOG_video-1c84b9576e01bb10" classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" codebase="http://download.macromedia.com/pub/shockwave/cabs/flash/swflash.cab#version=6,0,40,0"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.blogger.com/img/videoplayer.swf?videoUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvp.video.google.com%2Fvideodownload%3Fversion%3D0%26secureurl%3DqAAAAJRKzAPfu3a7ks9WIkYJqTHRAXcuWZQpFyYdxqIROIV8OGeM3hGJ5LYr3hMd5VaBbwt_-80jbHR1_Ij3V1knpUUze1a0ci0tiL6jVxqNZONrJdnZREW6Q4PCwdsw9FDq9GZ4REV5Nt-fuk1IzPeXCZikhdp5824XpKD2DXRXN1Z_DCEfJwpll_yklUt_QJRbQMVUAGOAfqcUOYP4Hx7JRN3vsiAXJNFmShRpCr62qru7%26sigh%3D039Dbli5DoEl5DUv23ptxUjjh8o%26begin%3D0%26len%3D86400000%26docid%3D0&amp;amp;nogvlm=1&amp;amp;thumbnailUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvideo.google.com%2FThumbnailServer2%3Fapp%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D1c84b9576e01bb10%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw320%26sigh%3D2cN0YGRYyuTGinfnA0_3BvOjdTY&amp;amp;messagesUrl=video.google.com%2FFlashUiStrings.xlb%3Fframe%3Dflashstrings%26hl%3Den"&gt;&lt;param name="bgcolor" value="#FFFFFF"&gt;&lt;embed width="320" height="266" src="http://www.blogger.com/img/videoplayer.swf?videoUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvp.video.google.com%2Fvideodownload%3Fversion%3D0%26secureurl%3DqAAAAJRKzAPfu3a7ks9WIkYJqTHRAXcuWZQpFyYdxqIROIV8OGeM3hGJ5LYr3hMd5VaBbwt_-80jbHR1_Ij3V1knpUUze1a0ci0tiL6jVxqNZONrJdnZREW6Q4PCwdsw9FDq9GZ4REV5Nt-fuk1IzPeXCZikhdp5824XpKD2DXRXN1Z_DCEfJwpll_yklUt_QJRbQMVUAGOAfqcUOYP4Hx7JRN3vsiAXJNFmShRpCr62qru7%26sigh%3D039Dbli5DoEl5DUv23ptxUjjh8o%26begin%3D0%26len%3D86400000%26docid%3D0&amp;amp;nogvlm=1&amp;amp;thumbnailUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fvideo.google.com%2FThumbnailServer2%3Fapp%3Dblogger%26contentid%3D1c84b9576e01bb10%26offsetms%3D5000%26itag%3Dw320%26sigh%3D2cN0YGRYyuTGinfnA0_3BvOjdTY&amp;amp;messagesUrl=video.google.com%2FFlashUiStrings.xlb%3Fframe%3Dflashstrings%26hl%3Den" type="application/x-shockwave-flash"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;One woman honors her best friend. Another woman dedicates the next three days to her daughter and her daughter’s generation. Another woman who could be any of us, has pledged the miles to come to the years that await her. Out of a deep belief that the power to end breast cancer forever lies within her reach. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;This is the moment where individuals who perhaps as recently as only hours ago stood and dared to face breast cancer alone now stand united. A remarkable community of heroes. This is what the end of breast cancer looks like. Because the 1 in 8 women who will develop breast cancer is one too many. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;Now, and for the Generations to come. Every lifetime is precious, And what could be a more poignant reminder than the experience of a survivor? I ask you now to turn your attention to eight such heroes, who this morning take the first steps of a new journey. Hand in hand, they surround an empty circle, A living symbol for the millions of women and men around the world...whose lives have been lost to breast cancer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Closing&lt;br /&gt;They don’t think about it. They just respond. And that is what you have done so powerfully. Faced with a disease that has no respect for human life, you didn’t ask questions...You responded with a display of courage that has no respect for this disease. Asked to submit, you would not submit.Asked to surrender, the white flag was nowhere to be seen. &lt;br style="mso-special-character: line-break"&gt;&lt;br style="mso-special-character: line-break"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA"&gt;It is no overstatement to say that you have achieved greatness in the last three days and for your efforts the world will not be the same. Each of you has your own hero. Your own reason for walking. Many of them are no longer with us. But many of them are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One word of warning: It will look different out there. Tomorrow, when you cross an intersection you’re probably not going to get a round of applause. When you walk into your office odds are there’s not going to be a little girl there with a painted sign that says “Thank You.” Odds are, random acts of hugging will be the exception rather than the rule. Don’t be alarmed. If we’ve learned anything this last Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, it’s that goodness is our natural condition and it only takes two aching feet, two creaking knees and one mortal enemy to bring it out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br style="mso-special-character: line-break"&gt;&lt;span style="FONT-FAMILY: 'Tahoma', 'sans-serif'; FONT-SIZE: 12pt; mso-fareast-font-family: 'Times New Roman'"&gt;Now we ask you, as we did on Friday morning, to turn your attention to a very special group of people—our Survivors. On Friday, we used the Survivors Circle to remember all those we have lost to breast cancer. We used it to remember a time when we walked with them. We used it to hold stories of our endurance under the most trying of circumstances. This afternoon, we widen the bond to include the loved ones and friends and even strangers whose lives will be spared because we cared. On Friday, the Survivors left carrying eight flags representing eight facets of their radiant existence. This afternoon, we salute them for sharing their light with us these last three days. In the Survivors Circle, and in the spirit of all our survivors, we see that life really is a great adventure to be savored and explored. And in the end, to be lived.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br style="mso-special-character: line-break"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-640261494823052327?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/09/risin-up-back-on-street-did-my-time.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-5269671511964716102</guid><pubDate>Fri, 11 Sep 2009 02:58:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-10T20:05:48.545-07:00</atom:updated><title>The Eve</title><description>I can't get the "Twas the Night Before Christmas" poem/story out of my noggin. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight is the night before the 3Day.  I find that I'm a bit nostalgic about this event.  I had to go back and read my blogs from last year. Wow.  I can't believe I walked for 3 days and tried to walk 60 miles. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I read I found myself tearing up and I thought, "Are you kidding me? Already crying." For the next three days I will be at the locations that got me all teary &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;eye'd&lt;/span&gt; last year, the cheer stations.  I can't wait.  I have my two hats and my big wig all brushed and ready to be worn (yes I had to brush the hats, they're fur-&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt; after all).  I have my cameras all lined up, batteries charged, a plan on shots to take...I'm all set.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I just have to get through three days of cheering endlessly for 2300 heroes out there walking in support to find a cure for breast cancer.   But never fear my faithful readers, I'll be posting as much as I can.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-5269671511964716102?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/09/eve.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-900981302998637851</guid><pubDate>Wed, 09 Sep 2009 02:27:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-08T19:40:43.791-07:00</atom:updated><title>The Kids Today...</title><description>&lt;div&gt;I'm sure I am not the only adult who gets a wee bit disgusted at the sense of entitlement today's kids seem to have. I was so lucky to be witness a the decline of modern civilization today. And lucky you get to hear all about it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was at a Starbucks this afternoon - well of course I was at a Starbucks - and in front of me was a Mom and two young girls. About 10 years old I would think. Mom couldn't have been more than mid twenties. Anyhow they all ordered a drink. Three total. They went about their way and stood by the bar waiting patiently. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I ordered and joined in the wait. The three were giggling and laughing as the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;barista&lt;/span&gt; handed them one drink at a time. Then they continued to wait. My drink comes up. And they're still waiting. Finally the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;barista&lt;/span&gt; asked if they were waiting for a drink. The mom said, "Um &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;yah&lt;/span&gt; we ordered a vanilla cream &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;frap&lt;/span&gt;." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, at this point I KNEW they hadn't, but I figured I'd watch it play out as I stirred my coffee. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;barista&lt;/span&gt; apologized for missing the drink order and promptly went on making the drink. She asked the cashier about it, and she said they hadn't ordered that drink, but that maybe she missed hearing them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;By this time, I'm miffed because I knew they hadn't ordered it. And here they are making two employees feel like they screwed up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SqcVaDhOLzI/AAAAAAAACEw/7KNMJZYYHiQ/s1600-h/vanillabean_cream.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 162px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 162px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5379291817282776882" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SqcVaDhOLzI/AAAAAAAACEw/7KNMJZYYHiQ/s200/vanillabean_cream.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;barista&lt;/span&gt; handed them the drink and apologized again. The mom turned to the girls as the got a straw right by me and said, "See, that's how you get free drinks." giggle giggle&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Can you believe that? She just taught her two daughters how to lie, steal and cheat all at once. No wonder our society is going to pot.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;As I got out to my car I thought about my own lovely mom. And wondered what she'd do to me if I ever did that. I'll tell you what she'd do, she'd knock me into next week. And you know how I know she'd do that, because I grew up with consequences. Every think you do has a consequence and boy let me tell you I found out just what some of those were. If I had a nickle for &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;every time&lt;/span&gt; I got "knocked into next week"...I'd be a very rich woman (who pays that nickle anyhow? Is there a general fund?)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;All I'm saying is we're raising a generation of kids who apparently don't think they have to pay for things, or work for things. Makes me scare to think about what my old age will be like...oh wait...I'm already old. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In other news, the 3 Day is right around the corner. If you're feeling the itch to donate this year, the team could really use the donations. In fact, breast cancer can use your donation. Visit &lt;a href="http://www.the3day.org/site/TR/Walk/SeattleEvent2009?team_id=71250&amp;amp;pg=team&amp;amp;fr_id=1300"&gt;Saving Second Base's site&lt;/a&gt; - pick any of the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Wraspir's&lt;/span&gt; to donate to. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-900981302998637851?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/09/kids-today.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SqcVaDhOLzI/AAAAAAAACEw/7KNMJZYYHiQ/s72-c/vanillabean_cream.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-7686901164872129763</guid><pubDate>Mon, 07 Sep 2009 16:34:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-09-07T09:56:03.596-07:00</atom:updated><title>Take this once a week, and call me in the morning...</title><description>It appears my daily-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt; blog is now more like a weekly-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;ish&lt;/span&gt;.  I'd write more, I swear, if there was more going on.  My life seems to have taken the sidelines for work currently. Which is fine, for now.  I have faith that at some point I'll get my head around this beast of a program and I'll be back to my normal self - well as normal as I can be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Interesting happenings of this weekend...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.  Missed a Dudley show. I know. I know. You're asking yourself if hell froze over. I can assure you it did not.  Truth be told the universe was against me.  First there wasn't anyone to go with and I wasn't about to go by myself.  Second, it was pouring.  I had no intention of driving my butt to Seattle to walk a bit in the rain to go see the boys.  I know, my dedication is waning.  I should be ashamed.  Wanna know a secret? I am 100% sure there will be another show.  On top of all that they were playing at one of my least favorite venues, so I figured why bother.  I'm sure they'll get over me not being there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  Had a Breast Cancer 3 Day / 60 mile planning dinner.  Can you believe 1 year ago I was strapping on my tennis shoes, serious bandages and I was hitting the path to walk 60 miles in 3 days?  I'm rather stunned at how fast that time has passed. I swear it was just yesterday we walked.  This year I chose to be a walker stalker instead. My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;BigBro&lt;/span&gt;, Seattle &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;SIL&lt;/span&gt;, and Blueberry are all walking and they need support. Trust me. I've seen these three walk...they're a mess!  Only joking.  They are my heroes as are all the men/women who will be hitting the pavement this Friday, Saturday and Sunday.  Anyhow, had the team over to help them "&lt;a href="http://cookingwithjennw.blogspot.com/2009/09/baked-manicotti-with-meat-sauce.html"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;carb&lt;/span&gt; load&lt;/a&gt;" and to plan &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;logistic&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  I got the word that I get to shoot photos for the 3 Day this year.  They've had crew positions in the past for photographers but have had tons of photos to weed through and it became a bit overwhelming.  I offered to take photos and weed through them for them.  So not only do I get to sit on the side lines cheering (and most likely tearing up) but I get to play the role as photographer too.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Woohoo&lt;/span&gt;!  But the pressure!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  I broke down and ordered a gadget.  About 4 years ago I did some assistance work for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Sur&lt;/span&gt; Le Table and learned knife skills.  At that point, I tossed out all my kitchen gadgets and have survived with a killer cutting board and good knives.  But I got drawn in by a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;stinkin&lt;/span&gt;' TV &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;commercial&lt;/span&gt;.  I bought The &lt;a href="http://www.theperfectbrownie.com/"&gt;Perfect Brownie pan&lt;/a&gt;.  I love, LOVE, LOVE the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;outer&lt;/span&gt; edges of brownies.  This particular pan seems to solve my "I only like the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;outer&lt;/span&gt; edges" problem.  I'll keep you posted on how it does.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Cuz&lt;/span&gt; I know you're gonna run out and buy one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  For Labor day I'm celebrating by not laboring.  I was going to, but think I may not.  I opened my Outlook and just sighed.  Too daunting.  It can wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  So instead I'm going to go get a massage. I'm meeting &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_13"&gt;ChickenLady&lt;/span&gt; for lunch first. I figured we won't be able to possibly cover all the topics we should cover in our girl chat time, so I might as well have a massage too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. And conveniently her massage office is by a Michael's Craft store.  I've come up with a brilliant idea for Blueberry's Christmas gift so I need to get busy.  And by 'brilliant' I mean BRILLIANT!  Well, it'll only be brilliant if I can pull it off.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Finished scanning all my old photos. And for a treat I thought I'd share these with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SqU6PXyZNBI/AAAAAAAACEY/yrlq1lRMlaM/s1600-h/scan0080.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 277px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SqU6PXyZNBI/AAAAAAAACEY/yrlq1lRMlaM/s320/scan0080.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378769365721756690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Mom and I in our &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_14"&gt;abayas&lt;/span&gt; in Riyadh, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_15"&gt;Saudi&lt;/span&gt; Arabia - circa 1986.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SqU6P7ET4lI/AAAAAAAACEo/cfOJedWqT4U/s1600-h/scan0008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 211px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SqU6P7ET4lI/AAAAAAAACEo/cfOJedWqT4U/s320/scan0008.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378769375192146514" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_16"&gt;Ahhh&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_17"&gt;TASIS&lt;/span&gt; high school graduation day.  June 5&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_18"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt;, 1987...was I EVER that young?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SqU6PuvRNNI/AAAAAAAACEg/gpIx2HtGH2Q/s1600-h/scan0127.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 259px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SqU6PuvRNNI/AAAAAAAACEg/gpIx2HtGH2Q/s320/scan0127.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5378769371882665170" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Blueberry and I in 1988 at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_19"&gt;WSU&lt;/span&gt;...nice flipped collars under a sweater huh? So 80's&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-7686901164872129763?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/09/take-this-once-week-and-call-me-in.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SqU6PXyZNBI/AAAAAAAACEY/yrlq1lRMlaM/s72-c/scan0080.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-8163584975104070132</guid><pubDate>Mon, 31 Aug 2009 19:34:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-08-31T12:48:26.330-07:00</atom:updated><title>Come on Baby Light My Fire...</title><description>There are few things in life that scare me. Bees are one, and fire is the other. My sister and her husband just lived through a fire storm like no other in So. California. Stupid &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BrotherInLaw&lt;/span&gt; is a fireman so while I understand his thought on his ability to protect their house, I would have much preferred if they would have vacated the area. ESPECIALLY after seeing her photos. &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;These are chronological from them seeing it just over a ridge to it being at their place, and then what it left in it's wake. They were lucky. Other people in their neighborhood were not so lucky.  My  heart goes out to all those who weren't so fortunate, and I'm so very thankful for the talented men and women who were out there fighting the fire...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Note to Stupid &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;BrotherINLaw&lt;/span&gt;...I may have to beat you senseless next time I see you. = ) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376214877861822914" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Spwm8m8fwcI/AAAAAAAACCo/jS7rivWmfe0/s400/FireStorm001.jpg" /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376214885647669986" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Spwm9D8yWuI/AAAAAAAACCw/v3L2vvI3JjM/s400/FireStorm002.jpg" /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376214894797793426" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Spwm9mCWKJI/AAAAAAAACC4/vmUBrmz9DTM/s400/FireStorm005.JPG" /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376214912023586754" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Spwm-mNS58I/AAAAAAAACDI/PRcjCCw-Qyk/s400/FireStorm007.JPG" /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376215243917876386" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SpwnR6nD3KI/AAAAAAAACDQ/dDsSgUFmGm4/s400/FireStorm008.JPG" /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376215249772576834" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SpwnSQa7gEI/AAAAAAAACDY/NuU6y7qpQNk/s400/FireStorm009.JPG" /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376215513897425410" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SpwnhoXM2gI/AAAAAAAACD4/R-Bsk2dpFYQ/s400/FireStorm014.JPG" /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376215258419685250" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SpwnSwoj54I/AAAAAAAACDg/tkVpD-4GkMs/s400/FireStorm011.JPG" /&gt;&lt;img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5376215275402805362" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SpwnTv5pwHI/AAAAAAAACDo/drsd2MPxy1w/s400/FireStorm012.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-8163584975104070132?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/08/come-on-baby-light-my-fire.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/Spwm8m8fwcI/AAAAAAAACCo/jS7rivWmfe0/s72-c/FireStorm001.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-2823819143565828833</guid><pubDate>Mon, 31 Aug 2009 01:39:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-08-30T18:52:17.204-07:00</atom:updated><title>Adding to the 40...</title><description>The weeks sure speed by don't they?  I'm still trying to catch my breath from moving in January and here I am having lived here for 7 months already. Unbelievable. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, lucky me gets to add two new things to my list of 40 New Things.  I got to go in and have a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;girly&lt;/span&gt; procedure done testing for some other &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;girly&lt;/span&gt; issues.  And thanks that new thing, I get to go in and have a small &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;girly&lt;/span&gt; surgery!  Oh goody!  Thankfully it's absolutely standard and has no serious issues related to the surgery.  I'm not looking forward to it, but I'm not afraid of what they'll find either.  We know there's already a "growth" - that's the tough part right?  My doctor - who is a woman in her 60's is about 5'2" and has the wit of no one I've ever met.  Anyhow, she's almost certain they won't find the growth to be anything abnormal - she just prefers to remove it...and I'm with her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think what has me more concerned is the being put under part.  I've only one other time have been out of complete control of myself and I can say that being a control freak I really don't like it.  The thought of going to sleep and waking up having had the house cleaned is just a bit scary to me.  But I'll be fine. The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;MomUnit&lt;/span&gt; will be here - in fact I'd have the surgery sooner if the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;MomUnit&lt;/span&gt; didn't "demand" that she be here.  Moms.  &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Sheesh&lt;/span&gt;! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other non-medical news, I've been scanning ALL my photos. I started with my first scrapbook which is for 1968 through the Jr. High.  I just finished 2000.  I'm not scanning each and every photo - but the good ones and the ones that have certain stories with them. And of course, ANY photo that can be posted to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;FB&lt;/span&gt; that shines an 80's light on any friends in which I can exact some revenge for something they've done to me in my life.  A few of you should be scared...very scared.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just pulled the recipes for this week, and I gotta tell you I'm hungry already.&lt;br /&gt;Sunday - &lt;a href="http://cookingwithjennw.blogspot.com/2009/08/pasta-with-chicken-and-mushrooms.html"&gt;Pasta with Chicken and Mushrooms&lt;/a&gt; - one of my ALL time favorites. So easy and quick and makes a pretty good left over...considering I'm someone who doesn't like leftovers that's saying something.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday - &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Panaeng&lt;/span&gt; Beef in Red Curry Peanut Sauce&lt;br /&gt;Tuesday - Parmesan Stuffed Chicken Breasts&lt;br /&gt;Wednesday - Pecan Crusted Chicken Tenders &amp;amp; Salad with Tangy Maple BBQ Dressing&lt;br /&gt;Thursday - Grilled Honey Lime Chicken Sandwiches - this is a do over. I have a friend coming for &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;scrapbooking&lt;/span&gt; and thought this would be a nice simple dinner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, if any of you want to come to dinner - let me know for how many to set the table!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-2823819143565828833?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/08/adding-to-40.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></item><item><guid isPermaLink='false'>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17776920.post-1549206773432394108</guid><pubDate>Sat, 22 Aug 2009 16:52:00 +0000</pubDate><atom:updated>2009-08-22T10:11:49.281-07:00</atom:updated><title>The Little Chef in me...</title><description>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SpAmyd9SxqI/AAAAAAAACCQ/dsCtZiNFkms/s1600-h/cookingjenn.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SpAmyd9SxqI/AAAAAAAACCQ/dsCtZiNFkms/s320/cookingjenn.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5372837003930027682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone who knows me knows two things are an absolute about me 1) I am a coffee girl - specifically Starbucks, but whatever and 2) I can cook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love to cook.  I love the fact that when I was in 7&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; grade my parents told me, one hot summer night in Lancaster, California, that from then on out I would pick one night a week (I picked Thursdays) and I would be responsible for dinner.  I had to have my grocery list to them for the weekly grocery shopping, and they'd get me anything within reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Up to that point my kitchen chores were relegated to cracking the ice, making the salad for dinner, and of course the dishes - which I hated.  So I was a bit - as a teeny &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;bopper&lt;/span&gt; - not that interested in another chore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I quickly discovered though that it wasn't so much a chore as it was an outlet.  I can't say that I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;wow'd&lt;/span&gt; anyone with new and different recipes. Truth is I only really have memories of cooking some of our family favorites.  I do have some vague memory of trying some recipes that mom and dad had stashed away, but for the most part, I played it safe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Both parents were in the kitchen "helping".  In that if I didn't understand, they were there to explain the culinary technique or word I didn't understand.  Thankfully both my parents could cook too, which helped groom my love for food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We all had our specialties.  Dad's was the BBQ. He could BBQ a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;tritip&lt;/span&gt; like no body's business. He'd take a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;tritip&lt;/span&gt; roast (back in those days it was a very inexpensive cut of meat too) and he'd cut slits throughout it and stuff those slits with garlic cloves.  He'd then BBQ it slow...saliva is pooling in my mouth even as I type.  Anything else that could be &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;BBQ'd&lt;/span&gt; was.  If he could find a way to do spaghetti on the BBQ he would.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom's speciality - at least to me - was her tacos and enchiladas. She learned from an old Mexican woman who owned a restaurant in her home town.  I can't remember the name of the restaurant, but I can remember going there one time and fully appreciating mom's enchilada history.  They aren't glamorous or difficult or anything like that.  They certainly aren't lo-cal (and trust me I've tried over the years to make them lo-cal and you just can't.  You have to just know that you're going to be eating some calories that night).  And being not one for leftovers, mom's enchiladas - cold - the next day...heaven. Blissful heaven.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so I didn't have a speciality.  I tried baking for many years and discovered I had no patients for that.  All the exact measuring, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;blech&lt;/span&gt;! I'd leave that to someone else.  I can cook though. And I can follow a recipe - sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What I love about cooking is the fact that it's like a little science &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;experiment&lt;/span&gt; each time.  Sure I could follow the well developed and tested recipe, but I'm convinced I can improve on it.  Anyone who comes to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Chez&lt;/span&gt; Jenn's knows that I do try to follow the recipe.  And yet somehow I decide a dash of this or a pinch of that might make all the difference. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've told you about the recipe bowl in a couple of &lt;a href="http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2008/03/hello-old-friend.html"&gt;previous posts&lt;/a&gt;. (Side note: did you know if you misspell previous you can get &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;pervious&lt;/span&gt;?) This bowl has about 300 recipes in it.  I recently cleaned it out and "re-did" the recipes &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;cuz&lt;/span&gt; I knew there were some I had already made and others I'd most likely not make. So I got down to business and started fresh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So far in the year of 2009 I've made 62 new recipes.  Some will make it to my annual cookbook, some won't make it off the page ever again.  I have tried to make it my goal to document this experience too and to make these recipes available to everyone.  This week I had two fantastic recipes that I feel I have to share.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://cookingwithjennw.blogspot.com/2009/08/chicken-curry-in-hurry.html"&gt;Chicken Curry in a Hurry&lt;/a&gt; and my favorite &lt;a href="http://cookingwithjennw.blogspot.com/2009/08/slow-roasted-salmon-with-coconut-rice.html"&gt;Slow Roasted Salmon&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I posted a stat counter and realized not too many people are hitting my cooking blog, which is fine, it's not just out there for the world to see, but it's out there for me to go back to when I wonder when it was I last made a recipe...or if - god forbid - I can't find the recipe.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My routine has been to make about 3 new recipes a week.  If you're ever bored with what you're making...&lt;a href="http://cookingwithjennw.blogspot.com/"&gt;check out my cooking blog&lt;/a&gt;. I'm sure there's something you can find there.  I can't guarantee everything will be lo-cal but I can at least guarantee it's been tested by one of the greatest unknown chef's in the free world.  At least in her own mind.  Now if I can only find someone to do the dishes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/17776920-1549206773432394108?l=jennwraspir.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</description><link>http://jennwraspir.blogspot.com/2009/08/little-chef-in-me.html</link><author>noreply@blogger.com (Jenn from WA)</author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NQmCrAT5Hk8/SpAmyd9SxqI/AAAAAAAACCQ/dsCtZiNFkms/s72-c/cookingjenn.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></item></channel></rss>