<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588</id><updated>2011-07-08T04:09:25.031-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Valerie Musings</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>83</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1034300953889177450</id><published>2010-06-24T14:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T14:23:06.362-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Nothing can hold you back if you really want it."</title><content type='html'>Some things you might not have known about me:&lt;br /&gt;I really like to work out - this results in the veins on my arms and legs popping out anytime my body gets warm. I call this the "Hulk Effect"&lt;br /&gt;I'm afraid of birds. I hate how twitchy they are, and that they don't have pupils. They have soul-less eyes and are creepy.&lt;br /&gt;I really hate going to the bathroom in a public restroom when one of the following occurs: the toilet seat is still warm from the last person who used it. there's pee sprinkles on the seat. the person a few stalls down from me is talking to themselves. there's that awkward silence where another person is in the bathroom, but it doesn't sound like they're doing anything because they're waiting for you to leave so they can take a Count &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Dooku&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;I hate feet. They're disgusting. I hate that they're warm and moist. I hate that they grow hair. I don't like touching, smelling, seeing, or being near feet. Incidentally I love foot rubs.&lt;br /&gt;I don't vote. Politics frustrate me, and I think they're very corrupt. Talking politics is the only time &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;someone's&lt;/span&gt; opinion can be wrong.&lt;br /&gt;I hate having nothing to do. I like to keep busy because when there's nothing to do I often get &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;tv&lt;/span&gt; show theme songs stuck in my head.&lt;br /&gt;I love green olives. When people ask me what my favorite food is they're often times shocked to find out it's green olives. They're also shocked to find that I don't like chocolate. Sick.&lt;br /&gt;I'm consciously aware of the fact that it will never happen, but at the same time I'm positive I'm going to be "discovered" and be famous one day.&lt;br /&gt;I still don't think your &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;GF&lt;/span&gt; is good enough for you. She's going to hurt you again, but I understand why sometimes you have to let that happen.&lt;br /&gt;I secretly wish that I were Lady Gaga. Not in the sense that I looked like her, or actually was her. I just want to be worshipped like her. I think that's fair.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not a crafty/creative person, but I'm so super psyched to decorate my new house!!!&lt;br /&gt;The end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Didja&lt;/span&gt; learn a something new?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1034300953889177450?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1034300953889177450/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1034300953889177450' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1034300953889177450'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1034300953889177450'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2010/06/nothing-can-hold-you-back-if-you-really.html' title='&quot;Nothing can hold you back if you really want it.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-5096913400373085453</id><published>2010-06-21T17:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-24T14:26:19.701-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I'm happy knowing you are mine."</title><content type='html'>WHAT!? She's writing a blog!!?!!&lt;br /&gt;So when I said what I said about your gf it was a tad unfounded. You're correct, I have nothing to base that opinion on. What I meant was this: If she didn't realize how sensational you are the first time around, but all of a sudden wants your nuts...there's gotta be something wrong, and I'm a suspicious by-stander.&lt;br /&gt;That is all.&lt;br /&gt;I have a theory. It's a good one. All men are gay. All of them. Every one.&lt;br /&gt;This is how I know:&lt;br /&gt;I've noticed that the qualities men find most attractive in women are ones that are more masculine. i.e. a girl who works on a car, plays video games, likes burgers and steaks, plays the drums/bass guitar - all these things are smokin hot! When was the last time you heard a guy say, "I really like the way she paints her nails. Man! Look at her shop! I think it's so hot when she watches romantic comedies."&lt;br /&gt;Don't lie to me, you've never heard that.&lt;br /&gt;So my conclusion is the thing guys are really looking for is a girl as close to one of their "buddies" as possible. Why do they do this? So they can continue living their lives eating hot wings, watching sports on Sundays, and shooting people up in their GTA game. It's better than helping their significant other do their hair or makeup every day. These are not attractive things.&lt;br /&gt;Why?&lt;br /&gt;Parce que...all men are gay.&lt;br /&gt;But this then raises the question about the guys that like to do feminine things. The definitive gay men. What's the difference between these two levels of bro-mosexuality?&lt;br /&gt;Gay men that like women like the way they're shaped and their....*ahem* parts, but would really prefer is she were just one of the dudes.&lt;br /&gt;Gay men that like men...like men. They get so caught up in what it is women do that they start to adopt some of their hobbies, mannerisms, and social trends. At this point they begin to forget that they're actually men, assume they're women, and revert to their instincts; looking for a companion with both chromosomes.&lt;br /&gt;You don't have to agree. Yo se I'm right.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-5096913400373085453?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5096913400373085453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=5096913400373085453' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5096913400373085453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5096913400373085453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2010/06/im-happy-knowing-you-are-mine.html' title='&quot;I&apos;m happy knowing you are mine.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-5763820504946398570</id><published>2010-04-22T17:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-22T18:17:17.538-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Jinx me something crazy"</title><content type='html'>What happened to the role of a mother? What happened to women wanting to be a wife and mom? I was talking to someone the other day at work about how I wanted to be a stay at home mom when I grow up. This perplexed her. She said to me:&lt;br /&gt;"But I have a baby and can work full time. Having both of our incomes means we can have everything we want."&lt;br /&gt;What about what your child wants?&lt;br /&gt;Is it strange that I don't want to work full time when I start a family?&lt;br /&gt;I would rather have time to be at home. To cook and clean and take care of home things. I'd rather be able to be around to instill values and teach my children instead of relying on the world to do it.&lt;br /&gt;Granted I am just me right now. I don't have a husband and I don't have kids. I have a dog, and I feel bad enough that I don't spend time with her!!&lt;br /&gt;Being a mother could quite possibly be the most rewarding use of one's time. You get to be there for all their accomplishments and successes, and when your children are in need you will be available to love them until they can't stand it anymore.&lt;br /&gt;Another ugly trend I see forming is parents who are more concerned with being friends with their kids than being the structure they need in those young impressionable years.&lt;br /&gt;Be a parent to your child while they are young. Teach them, discipline them, praise them when they do well. If you do these things while they're young they will appreciate you for it when they're older. Then you can be their friend.&lt;br /&gt;I see these parents that let their kids do whatever they want for fear that if they don't then their kids will be mad at them.&lt;br /&gt;WHO CARES!?&lt;br /&gt;They're kids. They're going to get mad and be over it in 3.25 minutes anyway. Kids have the emotional elasticity of a slingshot.&lt;br /&gt;I don't understand it.&lt;br /&gt;I read these articles online of children being paid to get good grades in school, and girls making pacts to get pregnant before graduation. Why are these children growing up so soon? Receiving income for hard work and being a parent are jobs for an adult. Most of the time adults aren't even mature enough to deal with these things.&lt;br /&gt;Basically what I'm saying is...I hope I'm a good parent someday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-5763820504946398570?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5763820504946398570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=5763820504946398570' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5763820504946398570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5763820504946398570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2010/04/jinx-me-something-crazy.html' title='&quot;Jinx me something crazy&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-260149293511156800</id><published>2010-03-07T19:51:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-07T20:24:55.152-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Time is a gift given to you. Given to give you the time you need. The time you need to have the time of your life."</title><content type='html'>While I'm waiting for my movie to buffer I have thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;I use this blog as a platform now and again to complain about things. Something I've grown weary of lately: Swearing.&lt;br /&gt;Curse words. Profanity. Obscene expression. Expletives.&lt;br /&gt;It doesn't matter how you dress it up; it all sounds the same.&lt;br /&gt;I've heard people contend that this base creation is a form of expressing themselves. How insulting. I find it downright selfish. They're depriving the world (myself included) of beautiful vernacular. There are so many multi-syllable words out there dying to be used, and these people selfishly limit themselves to four lettered, one syllable words.&lt;br /&gt;Words are beautiful. It's how we explain our feelings and relate to those around us. It's how we inform, converse, and unify ourselves with the rest of the world.&lt;br /&gt;Curse words are brief, sharp, and not necessary.&lt;br /&gt;These parsimonious word misers smell of decaying syllables as they let this loathsome refuse dribble from their mouths. Uttering these foul words creates a cacophony of mediocrity and causes those around you to believe you aren't capable of intellectual thought. True, I have heard some pretty creative uses of these words, and have found myself on occasion articulating my thoughts with a harsh word or two.&lt;br /&gt;Why limit yourself to these petulant perversions of the English language when you have words like magnanimous, pervasive, affectations, and pretentious waiting dormant ready to decorate the simplest of sentences? It's limiting to your verbal growth and just plain distasteful.&lt;br /&gt;This is my complaint.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-260149293511156800?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/260149293511156800/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=260149293511156800' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/260149293511156800'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/260149293511156800'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2010/03/time-is-gift-given-to-you-given-to-give.html' title='&quot;Time is a gift given to you. Given to give you the time you need. The time you need to have the time of your life.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-9211396379203386728</id><published>2010-02-28T20:43:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-28T21:08:34.952-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Though hope is frail it's hard to kill."</title><content type='html'>So I got a laptop, but what does this mean for yours truly? Well, I'll tell you how it's changed things thus far.&lt;br /&gt;1. I spend an inordinate amount of time on "the book." So much time that I've started referring to it as "the book" (as you can see from my previous sentence). On the surface this is not a bad thing. However, I now know far more about people than I'd like to. I know that **Sarah and Tom are in a relationship, and **Mary found a new book to read during her free time.  I know who went out and drank this weekend and who has the worst hangover. I know which of my friends got new jobs, promotions at old jobs, and laid off from the Dollar Store. I know who's engaged and who...well isn't. I've discovered many new friends, and I've become reunited with friends from elementary school. I've looked at most of your pictures, and I've definitely seen all of his.&lt;br /&gt;As I type this I'm thinking...who else in this world spends....wastes hours of their life surfing "the book?" How many people know all these things about me? Who came up with the idea of publishing information of people on the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;All of this thinking leads me to a conclusion. People are entertained by regular people. We don't really need actors and actresses. Don't get me wrong, they're nice, but think about the most watched TV shows out there: American Idol, The Amazing Race, So You Think You Can Dance...and a host of other reality TV shows. These shows are all about regular people (for the most part) like you and me. This is why we spend hours playing on &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt;. It isn't the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Farmville&lt;/span&gt; or Mafia applications. We're just entertained by looking through dozens of embarrassing pictures of people we see every day. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; is the reality TV show of the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;Internet&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Youtube&lt;/span&gt;.com&lt;br /&gt;Along with "the book" I spend a lot of time &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Youtube&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ing&lt;/span&gt; ridiculous videos that people have told me about. I've seen amazing videos of children singing songs, funny cartoon animations that get annoying after the first 2 hits, and a plethora of embarrassing moments you could see on any episode of America's Funniest Home Videos. (Side note, no host of that show has ever come close to the glory and &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_8" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;magnificence&lt;/span&gt; of Bob &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_9" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Sagat&lt;/span&gt;)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. I spend all of my time at work on a computer. The last thing I want to do is come home and immediately get back on the computer. However, I find that owning a laptop is my scapegoat. It's like I'm cheating the system because it's portable. In reality it's the same, but the allure of being online in bed is just too much for me to avoid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I refuse to stop calling it "the book."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So all in all I would say that owning this laptop has been a positive addition to my life. Sure it rules all my free time, and is turning me into an anti-social monster who reads her email and checks facebook updates every 5 minutes. I'd like to call it being well informed.&lt;br /&gt;**Names and status' have been changed to protect the identity of &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_10" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Facebook&lt;/span&gt; users.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-9211396379203386728?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/9211396379203386728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=9211396379203386728' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/9211396379203386728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/9211396379203386728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2010/02/though-hope-is-frail-its-hard-to-kill.html' title='&quot;Though hope is frail it&apos;s hard to kill.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-9027733878094582528</id><published>2010-02-04T19:12:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-04T19:43:59.550-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I love to hear you whispering softly that you love me too."</title><content type='html'>Where to begin........&lt;br /&gt;Ah yes, we'll begin with a cliche opening and turn to the dictionary.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;flake &lt;em&gt;n : &lt;/em&gt;a markedly eccentric person : ODDBALL&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is not exactly the definition I wanted...but now that I see it maybe it's a good thing as it's changed my mind on my subject.&lt;br /&gt;Not that I would've said any names.&lt;br /&gt;I'm amazed at people sometimes. Amazed. Occasionally I have to just stand in awe and applaud the moronic impudence of our race. The close-mindedness; the self-centered, self-loathing, self-deprecating mess of the human entity. The collective, inimitable mass that is humanity.&lt;br /&gt;And yet...&lt;br /&gt;There's that glimmer. There are those people that just radiate. I'm not talking about dirty, smelly people. The kind of radiate you want to be around. Those people that draw others to them, and leave the lucky few who get to know them feeling brighter and happier than before.&lt;br /&gt;Why can't we all be like these people?&lt;br /&gt;I, myself, am guilty of being part of that disgusting pile of poor personality putrescence mentioned above. Alliteration aside though, what can I do; what can &lt;em&gt;WE&lt;/em&gt; do to become one of those people?&lt;br /&gt;I see a few of them at church and a couple at work. Sometimes they're my servers at restaurants, and I've noticed them on rare occasion just walking down the street. They all have that smile. That smile that says, "I know I'm beautiful, but I use my beauty to make the world a better place." (Usually accompanied by stunning white teeth that probably cost thousands of dollars in orthodontics as pups.) They always have that effortless charm. They don't need to be center of attention when they're in a room, but by choice of their company are usually put in that position. Once all eyes are on them the rest of the room melts away. They always have the best stories and tell the funniest jokes. You know exactly who I'm talking about. It could be a class mate, a co-worker, a relative, or even your significant other (if this is the case hang on to them).&lt;br /&gt;What makes these people this way?&lt;br /&gt;Is it just an innate sense of confidence, perhaps passed down through the gene pool from great uncle Thomas who was once a Broadway performer?&lt;br /&gt;Have they gone through some special boot camp or training program for how to be successful at existing no doubt run by some terrifying Fraulein who by the end of the day has traces of a 5 o'clock shadow?&lt;br /&gt;Maybe it was a dare issued back in Junior High that went something like, "Kristina, I dare you to be sensational for the rest of your life."&lt;br /&gt;What is it that makes these people desirable above all people!?&lt;br /&gt;And if it's contagious how long do I have to spend time alone with them before I catch it?&lt;br /&gt;Maybe if I work hard enough I can become one of those people. Then again, maybe it doesn't take work, maybe it just happens. Yet again, maybe it's only a chosen few people that have this gift, and I will be forever sans said gift because I was foreordained to be surly.&lt;br /&gt;Whatever it is...I think if we had more of those people in this world things would run a lot more smoothly...also if there was even just one more David Hasselhoff...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-9027733878094582528?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/9027733878094582528/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=9027733878094582528' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/9027733878094582528'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/9027733878094582528'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2010/02/i-love-to-hear-you-whispering-softly.html' title='&quot;I love to hear you whispering softly that you love me too.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-7357450800237673026</id><published>2010-01-06T20:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-06T20:27:41.591-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"It's never going to be that simple."</title><content type='html'>I fell in love today.&lt;br /&gt;Let's start at the beginning.&lt;br /&gt;On Sunday my comrade, Danita, asked me if I would like to join her this Wednesday evening in feeding the missionaries. I agreed. So today I got into my car to drive to Danita's. On my way through &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;OSU&lt;/span&gt; campus I noticed a variable influx of student population from the previous 3 week winter vacation ghost town. I pulled up at a stop light and there he was:&lt;br /&gt;First, I noticed his face. He was wearing glasses that made him look charmingly nerdy. He had stunning features. Dark brown hair cut very spruce, and blue eyes I noticed from my car parked a few feet away.&lt;br /&gt;Next, I checked out his attire. He was wearing a heavy tan, corduroy jacket and a perfectly fitting pair of expertly faded denim jeans. His footwear was a little less sensible for the 12 degree weather, but the fashionable slip-&lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;ons&lt;/span&gt; from Urban Outfitters worked for him.&lt;br /&gt;He had a book bag. Obviously he was a student at &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;OSU&lt;/span&gt;. I would wager he was about 23.&lt;br /&gt;I considered rolling my window down and calling out to my fair-featured beau, but he had an &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;IPOD&lt;/span&gt; firmly &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;supplanted&lt;/span&gt; in his ears (probably listening to Ben Folds or &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;Weezer&lt;/span&gt;...something cool like that).&lt;br /&gt;The crosswalk beamed the walk signal across the street, and to my dismay Alex (this is what I decided his name was) began to walk. Time stood still. I tried to decide if it was worth it to drive through the red light consequently maiming him, and then in an act of unbridled heroism rushing to his injured side and offering a ride to the hospital. "It's the least I can do."&lt;br /&gt;It &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error"&gt;could've&lt;/span&gt; been an epic love story.&lt;br /&gt;But my 3 minute love saga came to an end as he reached the other side of the street and walked out of my life forever.&lt;br /&gt;Where are you now Crosswalk Lover? Why must our love be forbidden? Will I ever see you again?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-7357450800237673026?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/7357450800237673026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=7357450800237673026' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7357450800237673026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7357450800237673026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2010/01/its-never-going-to-be-that-simple.html' title='&quot;It&apos;s never going to be that simple.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-5322735356741428728</id><published>2009-12-15T20:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-15T21:50:25.763-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"This little girl, she grew up and moved away."</title><content type='html'>&lt;strong&gt;BLOG NUMBER 2:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;500 gallons is a lot of water...&lt;br /&gt;I would like to describe for my gentle-readers the definition of a hot-mess.&lt;br /&gt;In iambic pentameter.&lt;br /&gt;At 5:15 a.m. I laid my weary head down for what was sure to be the most disappointing sleep of my month. How many times can you hit the snooze button before it becomes pathetic? My mom knocks/opens my door at 10:45.&lt;br /&gt;"Valerie, it's after 10:30...normally you've showered by now."&lt;br /&gt;"I'm not showering today."&lt;br /&gt;"Okay, do you have your alarm set?"&lt;br /&gt;"Kind of."&lt;br /&gt;The door shuts&lt;br /&gt;*Scene*&lt;br /&gt;Finally at 11:00 a.m. I prise myself from my covers. I stood in the same spot in my room for about 5 minutes trying to figure out what was stopping me from calling off work. It was like some cosmic force. My mind was made up. No work today! But for some reason the action of picking up my phone and dialing into work was not in the cards. I opened the door of my room and shuddered as the cold air from the rest of the house hit me. How did I manage to take my socks off while sleeping yet again? I stumble up the stairs like a rouge pinball bumping into the walls as I go. I manage to make it into the bathroom, and relieve myself without any outrageous happenings. Before I begin getting ready for work I take a look at myself in the bathroom mirror, and I do not like what I see.&lt;br /&gt;My ponytail has half fallen out. Makeup left over from yesterday is smeared across my left cheek, and creases from my pillow across the right. A rather thick stream of snot is running out of my nose. My half tucked in shirt hides the fact that I have a wedgie reminiscent of one of Jim Carey's more successful movies: Ace Ventura Pet Detective. I let out a great sigh of disappointment and think to myself, "I should've taken a shower."&lt;br /&gt;No time for should've's. So I wipe the snot from my nose on my right sleeve, turn out the light and make my way back to my room to begin my transformation.&lt;br /&gt;I take what's left of my ponytail out of it's elastic prison and let my hair fall to my shoulders. I give it a good lookin' at and decide that brushing it is just out of the question. Back it goes, up into an unforgiving, messy bun. The pillow creases on the right side of my face are quickly turning into a distant memory. Removing yesterday's makeup and applying today's is no problem. Makeup and I understand each other. The offending stream of snot is back, and the thought occurs to me, "Could I be getting sick?"&lt;br /&gt;And I sneeze. Hypochondria is no laughing matter.&lt;br /&gt;It's now that I realize I probably should've done laundry as I have no clean clothes to wear to work. I'm also noticing a cold chill creeping up my back. I bet it's that cold I developed a few seconds prior. I go rooting through my dirty laundry and find three potential pairs of pants for work. I give each of them a good smell, and choose the ones that smell the least like dead raccoon (hobby of mine). I put them on and realize they could use some ironing. I turn on my straightening iron for my hair, and give each pant leg a pass from the straightener. It doesn't really work. Oh well, not going for perfection here...mostly just aiming for function. I feel like I have a fever. I wonder to myself how I contracted swine flu only moments earlier. I decide to bundle up since I'm ill and put on a couple sweaters. As I step out of my room, dressed for...well I was just grateful to be dressed...I realize that my entire outfit doesn't match. Another shrug. I go up the stairs and take the bathroom mirror on for a second time.&lt;br /&gt;Greasy, stringy hair in a messy bun. Wrinkly pants. Blood shot eyes with massive dark circles underneath. The a'fore mentioned tribute of snot making another guest appearance on my face. You might be asking yourself, "Why does Valerie describe herself as looking so haggard?"&lt;br /&gt;Well this, my friends, is how you make a hot-mess.&lt;br /&gt;I asked a question earlier in this blog. How many times can you hit the snooze button before it becomes pathetic?&lt;br /&gt;The answer is 9.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-5322735356741428728?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5322735356741428728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=5322735356741428728' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5322735356741428728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5322735356741428728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/this-little-girl-she-grew-up-and-moved.html' title='&quot;This little girl, she grew up and moved away.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-8691316557790122447</id><published>2009-12-15T20:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-15T20:54:11.643-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Little girl why are you crying? Just because the flowers in your garden are dying."</title><content type='html'>I have two very different blogs to write tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;BLOG NUMBER 1&lt;/strong&gt;:&lt;br /&gt;I am continuously impressed with you. The world keeps throwing you curve balls and you rise. You're far from home, the only member in your family, very new to this thing called being a Mormon...you have so many questions, you've been in several car accidents, you had a friend screw you out of a lot of money, a pipe burst in your apartment spewing hundreds of gallons of water everywhere...you have every excuse in the world to give up, and do what's "easy."&lt;br /&gt;And yet, you don't.&lt;br /&gt;You stick to it.&lt;br /&gt;Even when it's hard, and life just seems like it's never going to get any easier. I don't know the pain you're going through because you bear it all with such dignity. You smile and you continue to serve. How do you do it?&lt;br /&gt;I'm so &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;immensely&lt;/span&gt; grateful for your friendship and your influence in my life. You have no idea what it means to me to see you keep on fighting even when those around you who were the first members you had contact with are no longer active. Even though those missionaries that were eternally important to you are gone.&lt;br /&gt;I can't imagine what you've gone through since you decided to make that choice of immersion, but I know this...you're obviously a big deal if the adversary is trying this hard to make your life difficult, and there is always...&lt;em&gt;always&lt;/em&gt; a trial of your faith before the miracle. I promise.&lt;br /&gt;And I love you. Thank you. You are so beautiful, and I am SO glad that you didn't settle.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-8691316557790122447?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8691316557790122447/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=8691316557790122447' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8691316557790122447'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8691316557790122447'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/little-girl-why-are-you-crying-just.html' title='&quot;Little girl why are you crying? Just because the flowers in your garden are dying.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1030332074889586742</id><published>2009-12-10T19:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-10T20:12:55.880-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Time to play B-sides."</title><content type='html'>"How are you? I never ask.&lt;br /&gt;In my own life is where I bask.&lt;br /&gt;You must have thoughts, concerns, or doubts.&lt;br /&gt;I can only guess what they're about.&lt;br /&gt;This world it seems is upside down.&lt;br /&gt;It's hard to know where truth is found.&lt;br /&gt;We get attacked from all sides,&lt;br /&gt;And then our fate we must decide.&lt;br /&gt;We get a choice of two different ways,&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes a decision can take us days.&lt;br /&gt;We often choose the lesser course,&lt;br /&gt;Then feel too late our "friend, remorse.&lt;br /&gt;If we would only come to thee,&lt;br /&gt;And ask for help, then we'd be free.&lt;br /&gt;You always offer honesty,&lt;br /&gt;A pain-free path and clarity.&lt;br /&gt;If we stay our course and wander not,&lt;br /&gt;We'll find the truth we've often sought.&lt;br /&gt;What strikes me strange in all of this,&lt;br /&gt;Is picking momentray happiness instead of endless bliss.&lt;br /&gt;Why can't we see the road before?&lt;br /&gt;Why don't we answer when you're at the door?&lt;br /&gt;I find it odd we don't ask thy aide.&lt;br /&gt;When it's what we need most, every single day."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1030332074889586742?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1030332074889586742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1030332074889586742' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1030332074889586742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1030332074889586742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/time-to-play-b-sides.html' title='&quot;Time to play B-sides.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-2282761844197789193</id><published>2009-12-09T19:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T19:58:18.329-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Bar keep get me a drink, that's when she caught my eye."</title><content type='html'>So I'd like to share with my faithful blog readers a day in the life of an Exel Direct Scheduler.&lt;br /&gt;*Phone rings* *Phone rings*&lt;br /&gt;Customer: Hello?&lt;br /&gt;Valerie: Hi, is this Sandra?&lt;br /&gt;Sandra: No, you have the wrong number.&lt;br /&gt;Valerie: Are you sure?&lt;br /&gt;Sandra: Quite sure. No Sandra here.&lt;br /&gt;V: Really? Because this is Exel Direct, delivery service for Pottery Barn.&lt;br /&gt;S: ...Oh. Then yes. This is Sandra. I thought you were a telemarketer.&lt;br /&gt;V: Nope. Just calling to schedule your delivery.&lt;br /&gt;S: Okay, what day do you have?&lt;br /&gt;V: Can I verify your address first please?&lt;br /&gt;S: Yes, it's 1-2-8-6 Supolveda Street. Spelled S-U-P-O-L-V-E-D-A. That's in Galveston Texas. Spelled G-A-L-V-E-S-T-O-N Texas. 4-4-3-0-7.&lt;br /&gt;V: Okay, we're showing our first available date for delivery is going to be...Thursday, Decemeber 17th. Would that work for you?&lt;br /&gt;S: Oh. It's that far out?&lt;br /&gt;V: Yeah...sorry, around Christmas we get kinda busy.&lt;br /&gt;S: Could I have it this weekend? The 12th?&lt;br /&gt;V: Uh, no. The 17th &lt;em&gt;is&lt;/em&gt; our first available.&lt;br /&gt;S: What about the 16th?&lt;br /&gt;V: Nope. That route is full.&lt;br /&gt;S: Well, I guess I'm going to have to make it work then. *siiiiiiIIIIGGGGGgghhhhhh*&lt;br /&gt;V: Alright, so I'll put you down for...&lt;br /&gt;S: What time are they going to be delivering?&lt;br /&gt;V: Uh, they'll call you the day before to give you a two hour time frame of when they'll be in your area.&lt;br /&gt;S: Oh, okay. Well thank you!&lt;br /&gt;V: Oh, uhm ma'am, could you tell me of a major intersection near your home?&lt;br /&gt;S: A major what?&lt;br /&gt;V: Intersection.&lt;br /&gt;S: There isn't one.&lt;br /&gt;V: Well, it can be like a mile or two away, and if you can't think of an intersection a cross-street will do.&lt;br /&gt;S: We live out in the sticks, honey. There aren't any streets nearby.&lt;br /&gt;V: I can pull it up on Mapquest, hold on.&lt;br /&gt;S: Oh well there's Main Street. Main Street and Buffalo Ranch Speedway. Spelled M-A-I-N Street. And Buffalo B-U-F-F-A-L-O Ranch, R-A-N-C-H...&lt;br /&gt;V: Is this a gated community?&lt;br /&gt;S: A what?&lt;br /&gt;V: A gated community.&lt;br /&gt;S: I'm not sure I know what you're saying.&lt;br /&gt;V: Do you live in a gated subdivision or neighborhood?&lt;br /&gt;S: Well, there are gates in our neighborhood.&lt;br /&gt;V: Do we have to access a gate to get into your neighborhood.&lt;br /&gt;S: Oh, yes.&lt;br /&gt;V: Okay how do we get through the gate?&lt;br /&gt;S: You take Main Street and turn left onto Buff...&lt;br /&gt;V: No, do we need an access code or a phone number to get through the gate?&lt;br /&gt;S: No, there isn't a gate. You just drive into our subdivision.&lt;br /&gt;V: Are we going up or down any stairs for this delivery?&lt;br /&gt;S: No.&lt;br /&gt;V: Okay, looks like...&lt;br /&gt;S: WELL, we do have like 4 or 5 steps going into the house, but those are just porch steps.&lt;br /&gt;V: ...Okay, looks like we have you set up for delivery then on the 17th. Like I said they'll call you...&lt;br /&gt;S: And what time did you say they were going to deliver?&lt;br /&gt;V: Uh, they'll call you the day before with a 2 hour window of when they'll be in the area.&lt;br /&gt;S: And what windows do I have available?&lt;br /&gt;V: I'm not sure, they'll call you the day before to confirm times with you.&lt;br /&gt;S: Oh, that's right, you said that earlier.&lt;br /&gt;V: Yes. I did. Okay is there anything else I can do for you?&lt;br /&gt;S: Well, can I give you another number to call for that window?&lt;br /&gt;V: Sure, go ahead&lt;br /&gt;S: 6-1-4-5-5-5-2-4-2-4&lt;br /&gt;V: ...that's the number that I just called you at.&lt;br /&gt;S: Oh, yes. It is I'm sorry. 5-5-5-2-3-2-3&lt;br /&gt;V: And that's a 614 area code?&lt;br /&gt;S: No.&lt;br /&gt;V: ...  And the are code is?&lt;br /&gt;S: 614.&lt;br /&gt;V: Okay. I've got you set up. Anything else I can do ma'am?&lt;br /&gt;S: No, so they'll call the day before with my window, and if the window doesn't work I can just pick another day then?&lt;br /&gt;V: Sure.&lt;br /&gt;S: Okay. Oh, and if anyone cancels can you put me down on the list to have an earlier date?&lt;br /&gt;V: Sure.&lt;br /&gt;S: Oh, and I can only accept delivery after 5pm on Thursdays.&lt;br /&gt;V: Okay. I'll make a note of that.&lt;br /&gt;S: Thank you.&lt;br /&gt;V: Well, you have a nice evening Ma'am.&lt;br /&gt;S: Thank you! You have...&lt;br /&gt;*Call over*&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-2282761844197789193?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2282761844197789193/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=2282761844197789193' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2282761844197789193'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2282761844197789193'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/bar-keep-get-me-drink-thats-when-she.html' title='&quot;Bar keep get me a drink, that&apos;s when she caught my eye.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-5955672680634333143</id><published>2009-12-07T12:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-07T12:48:34.468-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"But remember, be careful what you do. 'Cause I'm not bulletproof."</title><content type='html'>"Hello again, are you still there?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need a friend, someone who cares.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It might seem small, I don't ask for much,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A warm embrace, from friendly touch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that if I ask you to,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You'll heal my pain, it's what you do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You love me more than anyone,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're always there, you never run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when I have my deepest doubts,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You help me see what life's about,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've fallen into darkest night,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But through your love I'm bathed in light.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You died for me, and felt my pain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then paved the way, and rose again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Help me see that the road ahead,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;has hope for me, please take my hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that through your endless grace,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can overcome, and win this race.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you dearly for tonight,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew you'd make me feel alright.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time we've spent was not the first,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And next time I'll be just as sure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll know that when I come to thee,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That thou has blessings just for me."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-5955672680634333143?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5955672680634333143/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=5955672680634333143' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5955672680634333143'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5955672680634333143'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/12/but-remember-be-careful-what-you-do.html' title='&quot;But remember, be careful what you do. &apos;Cause I&apos;m not bulletproof.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-4580419211377772752</id><published>2009-11-30T20:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-30T20:50:44.239-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I was born to tell you I love you."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SxSgnBgOgFI/AAAAAAAAAFY/TBMiVbcLkC8/s1600/tmple.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5410125644657754194" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SxSgnBgOgFI/AAAAAAAAAFY/TBMiVbcLkC8/s200/tmple.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;"Hello Friend, it's me again. Tonight is really tough. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Pretending to be fine, you see, has proven really rough. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;We all smile and laugh along, and carry on our way. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;But what they see outside of me gets harder every day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It's been a while since we last spoke, I hope you've not forgot. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;My name, my face, or who I am. I know that you have not. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It amazes me the things you, even things that I don't say. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It's safe to think that no one will quite know me this way. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I feel you here, your endless love. You never left my side. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Though I may have forgotten you, you've always been my guide. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;Those times I thought I was alone, or helpless in my plight. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It was you who helped to lift me up, and make my burden light. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;So as I sit here on my knees, and ask for aide this night.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;It comes to me, I realize, you're with me in this fight."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-4580419211377772752?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4580419211377772752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=4580419211377772752' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4580419211377772752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4580419211377772752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/11/i-was-born-to-tell-you-i-love-you.html' title='&quot;I was born to tell you I love you.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SxSgnBgOgFI/AAAAAAAAAFY/TBMiVbcLkC8/s72-c/tmple.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-4254573061745346664</id><published>2009-11-17T19:18:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-17T19:57:58.748-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"You saw me at the worst. You caught me falling first."</title><content type='html'>I have a theory. (It has nothing to do with bunnies).&lt;br /&gt;When I get ready for work I listen to music. Yesterday I chose an old CD of mine that I haven't listened to in some time. It was a CD that I made of my favorite hits from the early nineties that I would listen to on Sunny.95's night show Delilah.&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever listened to a CD or playlist so many times that you know which song is going to come on immediately after one song ends? I put this CD on shuffle to switch things up a little bit. As song number one ended I immediately started singing song number 2. But song number 2 did not come on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, as I previously mentioned my CD was on shuffle.&lt;br /&gt;So song number five came on while I was singing song number 2. (I'm going somewhere with all of this.)&lt;br /&gt;Song number two is a Celine Dion song. Song number five is a song by David Bowie.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And here's my theory: Celine Dion and David Bowie...are the same person.&lt;br /&gt;Don't believe me? Here's my proof.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. They look astonishingly alike.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. They both have very distinct singing voices.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. If you watch the movie "The Labyrinth" and look at David Bowie, he looks like Celine Dion with a bad hair/makeup job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. They are the same weight and height.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. You NEVER see them in a room, award show, movie together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. HOW did Celine Dion get so famous? Because her husband with a girl's name mortgaged his house? I don't think so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Have you ever heard Celine Dion speak? Sounds like a fake accent to me...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. They dance the same.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my theory is this. In 1990 David Bowie, who was suffering from his latest venture "Tin Machine," went to Quebec to choreograph routines for his "The Sound + Vision Tour." Whilst in Quebec he came up with an alter ego named Celine. He created this idea of a Canadian pop singer from Quebec that would satiate his lust for super stardom until he could bounce back from "Tin Machine." So off he went on the road as Celine Dion. Along the way to satisfy tabloids and journalists he made up the wild story of Celine's "husband," Renee, who was secretly being paid under the table to give his new persona credibility. I&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SwNwEYvlmnI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/HYgF-AtnAgo/s1600/celine+bowie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 160px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405287198438562418" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SwNwEYvlmnI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/HYgF-AtnAgo/s200/celine+bowie.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;t also gave him an opportunity to experiment with his sexual orientation (which &lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SwNv6QdNoWI/AAAAAAAAAFI/1X1RKZVRD-E/s1600/david+dion.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 161px; FLOAT: right; HEIGHT: 200px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5405287024415318370" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SwNv6QdNoWI/AAAAAAAAAFI/1X1RKZVRD-E/s200/david+dion.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;of course lead to a raucous night and confusing morning for Mick Jagger when he went to bed with a young Canadian pop princess and woke up with a crusty old English gentleman). But we won't go into that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That, in brief detail, is my theory. But don't take my word for it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-4254573061745346664?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4254573061745346664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=4254573061745346664' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4254573061745346664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4254573061745346664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/11/you-saw-me-at-worst-you-caught-me.html' title='&quot;You saw me at the worst. You caught me falling first.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SwNwEYvlmnI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/HYgF-AtnAgo/s72-c/celine+bowie.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-775078644207181620</id><published>2009-11-08T17:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T17:46:34.051-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Whatever happens is meant that way"</title><content type='html'>Things have just been super, fantastic lately :) I just had one of the best birthdays ever. Work has been going well. I find myself a worn out lately. I feel like I'm doing too much sometimes. But managing that comes with time. I'm just ridiculously content with life right now.&lt;br /&gt;*side note*&lt;br /&gt;Hey, you. Yeah, you. Don't feel so down. I love you and I really appreciate your presence in my life. I want you to know you're amazing, and I know some things are rough lately and other things don't really make sense, but I'm here for you!!&lt;br /&gt;*end of side note*&lt;br /&gt;I'm getting my hair done tomorrow...&lt;br /&gt;Exciting!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-775078644207181620?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/775078644207181620/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=775078644207181620' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/775078644207181620'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/775078644207181620'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/11/whatever-happens-is-meant-that-way.html' title='&quot;Whatever happens is meant that way&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-8997691829617111604</id><published>2009-10-25T16:12:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-25T16:36:27.336-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"It would be nice to start over again."</title><content type='html'>After reading a friend's blog I had an interesting idea for a blog of my own. It ties in nicely with some other thoughts I've been having lately.&lt;br /&gt;I'm a package. There are all kinds of things that make up who I am. There are exciting parts of me, and there are boring parts of me. Some of my parts are artistic and beautiful. Other parts are clumsy and awkward. There are some parts that are great at helping other people, and there are also parts who still need help themselves. There's not just one word to define who I am.&lt;br /&gt;So on to my topic. Defining moments in peoples' lives happen all the time. Someone I know just dealt with a painful defining moment. Her mother passed away. I can't believe what kind of pain she must be feeling and how she's going to deal with this. The thing is, though it's not just going to go away. That's why they're called defining moments. They happen and &lt;strong&gt;define&lt;/strong&gt; who we are for the rest of our lives. We don't just get over them and move on. Sometimes we learn and grow from these defining moments, and sometimes they kick our butts. This last week I dealt with one of my defining moments. I was struggling with feelings about my divorce.&lt;br /&gt;Again.&lt;br /&gt;However, these were different feelings. These were feelings of disappointment in myself. Wondering "what if..." and "had I just..." I realized that while I have forgiven him, I never really forgave myself. I had thought all this time that I was just angry at what had happened, but really I had these pent up feelings of frustration at how I'd handled the situation. It took me a little while to work it out, but I think I'm finally good now.&lt;br /&gt;Which brings me to point B of my topic.&lt;br /&gt;Since I got back into the "dating game" I've run across several young men &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;that've&lt;/span&gt; had interesting reactions to the fact that I'm divorced. One was pretty recent. We weren't dating per &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;se&lt;/span&gt;, however there was mutual attraction. As I said above ^^ I was having a tough time last week dealing with these residual divorce feelings, and it was too much for this individual to take. I didn't really involve him in it at all. In fact, I did all I could to leave him out of it. I only mentioned two things to him that were barely related. He then told me that while he regretted ending things before they even began, it was just too much drama. -OR- I was too much drama. At first I berated myself for bringing this down on the poor boy. Of course it was my fault, I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;should've&lt;/span&gt; left him out of it. But wait. Aren't I a package? Isn't that defining moment part of my package? It is.&lt;br /&gt;Once while feeling sorry for myself after a break up a friend told me, "He wasn't good enough for you anyway (what a good friend). You need a rock star."&lt;br /&gt;True story. If you aren't willing to put up with (notice I did not say &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;like&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;) all parts of my package, then you're not really good enough to be with me. This isn't some superiority issue. I'm not better than you by any means. I just need someone who wants to be with me all the time. Not just the times that I'm pleasant and happy. Because things aren't always going to be great. One minute everything could be perfect, and the next things could get "dramatic." How will I know you'll be ready for those times if you aren't willing to stick by me now?&lt;br /&gt;Just some food for thought.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-8997691829617111604?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8997691829617111604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=8997691829617111604' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8997691829617111604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8997691829617111604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/10/it-would-be-nice-to-start-over-again.html' title='&quot;It would be nice to start over again.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-2213174315170224783</id><published>2009-10-18T19:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-18T21:01:51.973-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I just want to run to you."</title><content type='html'>I had an interesting thought last night. I was at a party with some friends. One of these friends is 19, and we were all talking about what we were doing around this time when we were 19. Most people said things like their freshman year of college or starting a new job. That wasn't mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so sorry. If I could take it all back, I would. I never meant to hurt you or cause you pain. I should've been stronger and more supportive. I'm sorry I couldn't be that person for you, but it was all so new and so soon. I'm sorry that when you needed me the most I distanced myself. I was a coward. You had to have been so alone and scared, and all I could do was worry about how it was hurting me. I didn't understand what you were going through and what's worse, I didn't try to. When things got bad and you lost hope I should've been there with hope enough for the both of us. I didn't uphold the promises I made. I wasn't strong enough for you. How could I give up so easily? How could I let it destroy what we had? You deserved more. You deserved compassion and understanding, not fear and criticism. You deserved what I just wasn't ready to give. This doesn't make it better. Nothing will. Nothing that I say now can fix it, but I want you to know that I'm sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I promise not to let it happen again. I'm prepared to take what I've learned from all of this and try again. I promise that the next time I make those promises with someone that I'll be ready to face &lt;strong&gt;whatever&lt;/strong&gt; comes our way. I promise to get my priorities right. I promise to remember what happened here with us and to do better. You've made me a stronger person through this trial by fire, and I promise to show the next person how ready I am to make that commitment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-2213174315170224783?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2213174315170224783/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=2213174315170224783' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2213174315170224783'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2213174315170224783'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-just-want-to-run-to-you.html' title='&quot;I just want to run to you.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1326912458002655307</id><published>2009-10-15T20:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-01-06T20:07:08.584-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"There's a look in your eye, and I don't feel safe"</title><content type='html'>I'm writing this for you. Mostly because I think you're the only one that reads this. You're fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;There are several people I'd like to talk about right now.&lt;br /&gt;You're really great. I like you. Your hair is stupid, but you know that. There's something about you that makes it hard for me to stay away when that's my natural reaction.&lt;br /&gt;And you. Being your friend has excited me about the gospel, and has given my testimony new life. Don't worry about the inconsequential things. Just remember that feeling you get when the Spirit is testifying about the truthfulness of the Restored Gospel.&lt;br /&gt;Then there's you. Why have you hurt me so much? I trusted you more than I probably should have, and I've ended up burnt. I'm not interested in being your friend right now. I'll let you know when I'm done being so stubborn.&lt;br /&gt;And of course you. I'm going to miss you so much. We haven't spent all that much time together...as it should be, but you can't leave. I understand that it's part of who you are, and that you're moving on to things more important than me. Just don't forget me.&lt;br /&gt;Also, there's you. I feel like I don't know you. How can two people go from knowing everything about each other to feeling like a total stranger. You come up in my thoughts every once in a while, but when it comes down to it, I'm just over you.&lt;br /&gt;Finally, let's not forget you. Yes, you. Thank you for being my friend. You are a good person, and if people would just try to get to know you better they'd see what I see.&lt;br /&gt;There, are you happy now? I wrote a blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1326912458002655307?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1326912458002655307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1326912458002655307' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1326912458002655307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1326912458002655307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/10/theres-look-in-your-eye-and-i-dont-feel.html' title='&quot;There&apos;s a look in your eye, and I don&apos;t feel safe&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-6253090969865790799</id><published>2009-10-14T18:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-14T18:54:28.121-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I beg you. Please, stop playing games."</title><content type='html'>What's happened to me? Who am I? I don't recognize myself anymore.&lt;br /&gt;I'm not the person I was.&lt;br /&gt;But how do I feel about this?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-6253090969865790799?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6253090969865790799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=6253090969865790799' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6253090969865790799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6253090969865790799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-beg-you-please-stop-playing-games.html' title='&quot;I beg you. Please, stop playing games.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-6038267296429696425</id><published>2009-10-11T20:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T08:44:45.458-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Then she goes and falls in love and throws it all away"</title><content type='html'>I'm not exactly sure where this blog is going to end up. I have a lot on my mind and a lot I want to write about.&lt;br /&gt;While I'm not sure where it's going to end up, I can tell you where it's going to start.&lt;br /&gt;My new job has made me anti-social. I'm not sure it's much of a problem because it's also made me more responsible. I'm working a real 9-5 job. Sure, it's really 12-830, but this is one of those jobs that could turn into a career.&lt;br /&gt;Which segues beautifully into my next subject. I don't think I'm going to be around for it to turn into a career. I'm not talking about dying anytime soon (though my demise is eminent with all the people in my row being sick), but I'm moving. Things are really falling into place with this plan to move back to Utah. I don't think it's by coincidence. This does not segue into topic three.&lt;br /&gt;I think I'm sabotaging myself. Since I've moved back to Ohio I've had the chance to be in some pretty legitimate relationships with some pretty exceptional gentlemen. Somehow I always manage to talk myself out of it after the first couple of weeks. This trend is getting taxing, and I'm starting to wonder if I even want a relationship at all. Part of me yearns for that special person to tell everything to and cuddle with in front of the fire (indulge your blogger and pretend I have a fireplace). However, when it comes to thinking about commitment...something just goes horribly wrong, and all these warning bells start going off in my head. This pattern again reared it's ugly head two weeks ago. I started getting close with a certain someone, and when he started talking commitment I started pushing away. I managed to blow that one. (To be fair though, he wasn't a good suitor for me.)&lt;br /&gt;I really love my dog, Sam.&lt;br /&gt;I often blog about things on both sides of my passion spectrum. Things I really LOVE and things I really detest. I like that I'm a passionate person. It leaves little room for a grey area.&lt;br /&gt;Side note - why are there two spellings for the word grey(gray) and which one is appropriate and when?&lt;br /&gt;With most things in my life it's either love or hate. I'm rarely indifferent (unless choosing a restaurant to go to...this proves to be an indecisive subject for me).&lt;br /&gt;Two things I've felt passionate for in the positive light lately are:&lt;br /&gt;1.) Autumn -and-&lt;br /&gt;2.) The Gospel&lt;br /&gt;I'll write on the latter first, which I understand isn't correct blogging etiquette, but let's face it this blog isn't the pinnacle of literary achievement.&lt;br /&gt;I'm always so shocked at how little I know about both the Bible and the Book of Mormon. No matter how many lessons I stayed awake for in seminary or number of times I've read them, they still manage to surprise me. I love being challenged in my personal scripture study. I love coming up with questions, and I love finding answers to these questions even more. I haven't been as faithful at studying the teachings of the prophets and I've noticed. I'm not as happy, friendly, or filled with hope. Some prophet, whose name escapes me at this late hour, said something like, "I find that when I get casual with my relationship with Deity..." something about life becoming hard and what-not..."that if I immerse myself in the study of scripture and saying my prayers..." happiness returns? Something to that effect; you get the point. It's so true. It's the simple, basic things. It really is.&lt;br /&gt;Back to my first listed passion. Autumn. Ah, it's my favorite season. The crisp chill in the air as the leaves change to brilliant shades of orange and scarlet. The smells and sights. It harbors my favorite holiday (Halloween). My birthday is during autumn.&lt;br /&gt;Side note - are seasons proper nouns?&lt;br /&gt;I just love it. Hot cocoa starts becoming a staple along with sweaters, jackets, and snuggling. Corn mazes with friends while you're piled high with parkas and scarves, and the sound the furnace makes when it kicks on. I just love it. Autumn is very refreshing for me. The atmosphere of it all puts me in a great mood.&lt;br /&gt;*BONUS* I LOVE shopping for sweaters. :D&lt;br /&gt;So it looks like after all was said and done today that this blog ended with sweaters. Who knew?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-6038267296429696425?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6038267296429696425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=6038267296429696425' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6038267296429696425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6038267296429696425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/10/then-she-goes-and-falls-in-love-and.html' title='&quot;Then she goes and falls in love and throws it all away&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-698401984945587825</id><published>2009-10-01T19:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-01T19:34:09.924-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I tried to live alone, but lonely is so lonely."</title><content type='html'>Obsession.&lt;br /&gt;She walks in.&lt;br /&gt;Obsession.&lt;br /&gt;What is it she's wearing?&lt;br /&gt;Obsession.&lt;br /&gt;How's a girl like her end up in a crazy place like this?&lt;br /&gt;Obsession.&lt;br /&gt;She looks around the room with disinterest.&lt;br /&gt;Obsession.&lt;br /&gt;Do you know the way to San Jose?&lt;br /&gt;Obsession.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever seen those old perfume commercials? Youtube it.&lt;br /&gt;So quite recently I've been the victim of a very heinous crime. I went to a dance last week. While there I did what I normally do, and I got my dance on. Right before leaving a gentleman asked for my attention and subsequently my phone number also. Unfortunately for me I have this problem where I can't say no to people when they ask me for things face to face.&lt;br /&gt;Ex:&lt;br /&gt;"Valerie, would you like to go on a date?"&lt;br /&gt;Yes.&lt;br /&gt;"Valerie, can I have your phone number?"&lt;br /&gt;Yes.&lt;br /&gt;"Valerie, would you like to do some PCP with me?"&lt;br /&gt;Yes.&lt;br /&gt;So I gave him my phone number. I didn't really expect him to use it. But he did. And then again. And again. And again. And again.&lt;br /&gt;Problem is, I've already told him I'm not interested and do not want to go on a date. But he won't give up. The first couple of days his persistence was endearing. We're now at day 7 and it's no longer endearing. I wonder if he thinks he's winning points...because he's not. He's just making me sick to my stomach. It's gotten to the point where I've looked into what I'm going to need to get a restraining order and the prices for macho body guards named Bruno. Granted, I admire a man that doesn't give up after hearing "no"....the first time. I've now consistently told him no every day in the past week. What do I need to do to get through to this guy!?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm beginning to think the offer to do some PCP was a better choice.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-698401984945587825?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/698401984945587825/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=698401984945587825' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/698401984945587825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/698401984945587825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/10/i-tried-to-live-alone-but-lonely-is-so.html' title='&quot;I tried to live alone, but lonely is so lonely.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1659902276351310550</id><published>2009-09-28T09:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-28T09:39:57.788-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I'm busy in the blissful unaware"</title><content type='html'>I'd like to register a complaint.&lt;br /&gt;Why in the world would I sign up for Health Insurance if it's not going to cover one penny of my doctor bills?&lt;br /&gt;Why would I allow an insurance company to take a chunk of my paycheck from me if that money is just going to go to waste!?&lt;br /&gt;I go to the Dr. last month to get a physical for my mission, right? Well they decided to pump me full of immunizations and take some blood as well. I got the bill a couple weeks ago. SIX HUNDRED EFFING DOLLARS! And do you know how much of that my insurance covered?&lt;br /&gt;Zero. Zilch. Nada. Nuffing.&lt;br /&gt;Fantastic. I mean really, fan-freakin-tastic.&lt;br /&gt;It just doesn't make any sense. Where is that money going that they take from me every month? Why don't they use it to pay for my Dr. bills!?&lt;br /&gt;Complaint over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1659902276351310550?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1659902276351310550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1659902276351310550' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1659902276351310550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1659902276351310550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/09/im-busy-in-blissful-unaware.html' title='&quot;I&apos;m busy in the blissful unaware&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-3837309375841433343</id><published>2009-09-22T18:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T20:09:54.838-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Please, be cruel to me."</title><content type='html'>I've been having a very intense time lately. I say intense because it isn't hard or stressful per &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;se&lt;/span&gt;. Things are just life or death lately!&lt;br /&gt;I went on my big vacation. I've been making huge and important new decisions for my life. I started a new job today. Big changes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I'm tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realized something today. I'm not as okay as I've come to think I am. I haven't dealt with a lot of things, and because of that I'm pushing people away. At the same time I've come to realize something much more important.&lt;br /&gt;The most important thing in my life...no in the entire world, is my membership and testimony in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. Sometimes I feel like I'm so alone, but I know that no matter what the Lord is always there to be my friend. Sometimes I feel like no one cares about what's going on in my life, but every night when I get on my knees the Lord listens to everything I have to say, and He never interrupts! Thanks to my testimony I'm never alone. Sometimes I forget it for brief moments, but at the end of the day it's always the Lord and me. Goodness the love that He has for me is so encouraging!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sidebar - Lemme tell you about my day...in dramatic satire ;)&lt;br /&gt;Scene: As the sun rose this morning so did I. I sleep in the basement so I wasn't really aroused by sunlight so much as my blaring alarm clock playing the song "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Calle&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Ocho&lt;/span&gt;" By: &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Pitbull&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;I pick up my phone and turn the annoying repetition of those smutty Spanish lyrics off, and begin my ascent of the basement stairs. I stumble into the family room sporting one massively disheveled ponytail plastered to the side of my face with a mixture of sweat and saliva, and what looks to be Native American war paint but in actuality is really the left-over remains of yesterday's makeup. My mother greets me with a warm, "Good morning Sleeping Beauty!" whilst in her downward-facing-dog pose, and I grunt a response, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Gronnornnin&lt;/span&gt;." I turn the corner and face yet another set of stairs. I opt for a comfortable spot on the couch instead. Mom is watching an entertaining movie with Colin Firth in it. I can't resist his big blue eyes and dainty British accent; I quickly become enthralled in the movie. My stomach calls out its protests and demands I fill it. An epic battle rages in my head! &lt;em&gt;"Yes sir we've got quite a crowd this morning as we get ready to watch Colin Firth take on Valerie's cranky Tummy!"&lt;/em&gt; Colin wins.&lt;br /&gt;As the credits roll nearly half an hour later I look at the clock and realize I'd better take a shower. I rise from the couch and trudge up the stairs. After yet another staircase (why does this house have so many gosh darn stairs!?) I'm standing at the linen closet trying to decide what color towel I'm feeling like this morning. I reach for a blue one, but see the coveted forest green towel hiding in the back. For those who aren't aware, the forest green towel is a big deal in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Mizer&lt;/span&gt; house. It's the biggest, softest towel we own, and it's not rare to see one or more of us fighting over it. This is my lucky day. I grab the towel and head for the bathroom.&lt;br /&gt;Once I'm all clean (please, did you really think I'd go into detail about my naked time?) I wrap myself in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;afore&lt;/span&gt; mentioned forest green towel and retreat back down all three flights of stairs. Shut in my bedroom I listen to a load of whites being tossed around in the dryer just outside my door. This leads to musical fantasies about how nice it'll be when I move out of my parents house again. After a good ten minute pause in my routine I get back to business. The thought smears across my mind that today is my first day at my new job. I had totally forgotten! My mental meltdown is interrupted by a resounding knock at my door..."Valerie?"&lt;br /&gt;"I'm naked!!" I sing back to my mother.&lt;br /&gt;"Don't forget I washed that shirt you wanted to wear to work today. It's out here hanging up."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Blast.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Thanks, Mom!"&lt;br /&gt;Then the dogs start to go crazy. Sam is barking like a mad...dog and clawing at the window while Fancy bays out her strained, gravelled howl. &lt;em&gt;What in the world!?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom runs back upstairs to assay the dogs. I hear the front door open. Someone is cooing the dogs names. &lt;em&gt;Who could possibly be here this early?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No time. I have to get ready for work, and it's going to take a while because I've got to look &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;GoooOOOOooood&lt;/span&gt; on my first day. Makeup goes on. I creep out of my room wrapped in the forest green towel in an attempt to retrieve the shirt for today, praying that whomever is here won't decide they need to take a trip to the basement. Once I'm shut safely back in my room I get dressed. I look in the mirror to check out the job I've done preparing myself to look &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;GoooOOOOooood&lt;/span&gt;. I look good. That's not what I'm going for. What about the mixed capital and lower case &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;o's&lt;/span&gt;?? Then suddenly I know what it is that will put me over the top.&lt;br /&gt;I bust out the curling iron.&lt;br /&gt;Another knock at the door.&lt;br /&gt;"Valerie!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Annoyed.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes, Mother?"&lt;br /&gt;"Your Grandma is here. It'd be nice if you came out and saw her before we leave to go to lunch. Can you please put some clothes on??"&lt;br /&gt;..."I'll be up in a minute..."&lt;br /&gt;I check the clock. Hopefully Grandma can keep this reunion brief. I've got hair to curl.&lt;br /&gt;**For the complete story email Valerie at vrmizer@yahoo.com&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-3837309375841433343?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3837309375841433343/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=3837309375841433343' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3837309375841433343'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3837309375841433343'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/09/please-be-cruel-to-me.html' title='&quot;Please, be cruel to me.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-8656772310636373094</id><published>2009-09-20T19:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T19:27:02.910-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Don't wake up, won't wake up, can't wake up."</title><content type='html'>I think I don't get it.&lt;br /&gt;Any of it.&lt;br /&gt;And I quit trying to.&lt;br /&gt;I have new priorities.&lt;br /&gt;And don't worry, I know it's an issue. Sorry it's taken me so long to fix it, but it will be fixed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-8656772310636373094?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8656772310636373094/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=8656772310636373094' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8656772310636373094'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8656772310636373094'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/09/dont-wake-up-wont-wake-up-cant-wake-up.html' title='&quot;Don&apos;t wake up, won&apos;t wake up, can&apos;t wake up.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-2632433491437826324</id><published>2009-09-15T21:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-15T21:18:06.089-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I promise you it won't happen again."</title><content type='html'>So I once again answered the Siren Call of Utah.&lt;br /&gt;I got home today around 4 o'clock. It was an interesting trip. Very eventful. There's so much to think/talk about. I find myself needing an outlet (Danita, this will probably be you).&lt;br /&gt;Interesting thoughts.&lt;br /&gt;On another note: I start a new job next Tuesday. I will continue to work at Dick's, but only on &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Mondays&lt;/span&gt;. From now on I will have zero social life.&lt;br /&gt;I'll miss you, friends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-2632433491437826324?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2632433491437826324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=2632433491437826324' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2632433491437826324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2632433491437826324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/09/i-promise-you-it-wont-happen-again.html' title='&quot;I promise you it won&apos;t happen again.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-8877495633040752708</id><published>2009-09-01T15:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-01T15:58:49.658-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I'm longing for words to describe how I'm feeling."</title><content type='html'>I've had two thoughts (and two alone) on my mind these past couple of days.&lt;br /&gt;But first I'd like to touch on a very important subject. A couple days ago I was feeling nostalgic. Subsequently I wrote a blog about it.&lt;br /&gt;There was a very important part of memory lane that we detoured however.&lt;br /&gt;I miss spaghetti in a can. I miss Yoga at 3 in the morning. I miss shopping for toiletries. I miss peanut butter sandwiches on the porch. I miss pink and orange and orange and pink.&lt;br /&gt;I miss you Heather. Please don't think I've forgotten you. You're of my leading ladies!! :D&lt;br /&gt;So these two thoughts are centered around the state of Utah. For those of you who are truly faithful followers of this truly intrinsically Valerie blog you know that I used to live in Utah. Well this coming week I am going back!! Not for good...(never fear Buckeyes!) but for a nice visit. We're going to be there for quite some time, and I'm excited to the point that I'm having trouble sleeping.&lt;br /&gt;It's like the night before Christmas and I'm five years old again. Except this year Santa has Utah in his bag. (He's magic, he can do what he wants.)&lt;br /&gt;I have no idea how this trip is going to go, but I'm pretty positive (on a scale of one to positive I'd say I'm around....8) that it is going to be EPIC. This is something that I'm looking forward to making happen.&lt;br /&gt;*Side bar - today was an interesting day at work. I got offered a new job today. I have until Saturday to figure out if I want to take it or not....&lt;br /&gt;**Side bar to add to the side bar - there's a new guy at work that looks like he could be my ex-husband's long lost twin brother...interesting array of emotions attached to that little fact.&lt;br /&gt;So I finally opened up a new checking account. I'm excited for this. I feel like I've finally taken control of my life back. It only took a year and a half for me to get it, but things are starting to feel really good. I know that it's all thanks to God. He continues to bless me even when I don't feel like I deserve it. He really is gracious.&lt;br /&gt;So to sum it all up...look out Utah, you're in for quite a surprise!! Because here we come!&lt;br /&gt;Heather....I love ya girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-Hugs n Kisses&lt;br /&gt;Bloggin Mama&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-8877495633040752708?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8877495633040752708/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=8877495633040752708' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8877495633040752708'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8877495633040752708'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/09/im-longing-for-words-to-describe-how-im.html' title='&quot;I&apos;m longing for words to describe how I&apos;m feeling.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1701020760840755763</id><published>2009-08-29T16:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-29T16:59:14.176-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I'd rather be here with you"</title><content type='html'>Have you ever met someone that came into your life quick and out of the blue, made an impact you'll never forget, and then just as quickly as they showed up...they're gone?&lt;br /&gt;It's amazing the kind of impression people can make on one another in such a small amount of time.&lt;br /&gt;Isn't the wonderful thing about it when you get a chance to have that person walk back into your life...even if it's not for very long?&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait to see what happens next. :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1701020760840755763?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1701020760840755763/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1701020760840755763' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1701020760840755763'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1701020760840755763'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/08/id-rather-be-here-with-you.html' title='&quot;I&apos;d rather be here with you&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-8505408969881974531</id><published>2009-08-28T10:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-28T10:46:53.561-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Suppose that I miss you"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SpgYAzZLWtI/AAAAAAAAAFA/y7lnY2H-2Jk/s1600-h/Thursday,+June+14,+2007+(4).jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5375072557341563602" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 138px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SpgYAzZLWtI/AAAAAAAAAFA/y7lnY2H-2Jk/s200/Thursday,+June+14,+2007+(4).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Gosh...it's been a few minutes since my last blog-a-licious entry.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Topic: Nostalgia&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hung out with someone last night that made me realize that I miss a lot of things.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We looked at the blog of this person's brother. I miss writing in my blog.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My little sister started her junior year of high school yesterday. In the break room at work we all talked about what we were like in high school, and how we miss the years of no bills, no jobs, no taxes&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;...no responsibilities...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss some of my friends. When you become an adult this terrible thing happens where you get busy. This leads to less time spent with friends. I know two friends in particular that I'd love to spend more time with, but when you're adult it's hard to rationalize your time sometimes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went to the doctor last week and had to take a couple days off work. I spent those two days lying on the couch at home trying to get better, and I realized...I've got to be an adult if those were two of the most relaxing days I've had in a while. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm getting ready to go on vacation in a week to Utah. I miss Utah. Not just the people, but mostly the people. We're going to be staying with an old roommate of mine while we're out there. I miss having roommates and my own place.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I used to love my job. I used to think it was outstanding. I've lost all my drive and passion for what I do and the people I work with. I loathe my job. I miss loving my job. I miss being excited for work. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I miss boneless buffalo wings from Applebees with Danita. I miss Supernatural marathons with Jess. I miss shopping trips with Katie. I miss "musliming" with Megan. I miss staying up all night with Morgan. I miss cruising the 'vard with Amy. I miss driving expensive foreign cars with Ken. I miss hiking with Skip. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;When did my life become so boring? I used to have so much fun.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Nostalgia: a wistful desire to return in thought or in fact to a former time in one's life, to one's home or homeland, or to one's family and friends; a sentimental yearning for the happiness of a former place or time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yeah. I'm there.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-8505408969881974531?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8505408969881974531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=8505408969881974531' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8505408969881974531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8505408969881974531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/08/suppose-that-i-miss-you.html' title='&quot;Suppose that I miss you&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SpgYAzZLWtI/AAAAAAAAAFA/y7lnY2H-2Jk/s72-c/Thursday,+June+14,+2007+(4).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-4061147375626937587</id><published>2009-07-24T21:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-24T21:38:42.438-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"All I know is that you're so nice"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SmqLgLVU6kI/AAAAAAAAAE4/1IQbiRpRBRM/s1600-h/Photo-0046.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362251691252312642" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 160px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SmqLgLVU6kI/AAAAAAAAAE4/1IQbiRpRBRM/s200/Photo-0046.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;&lt;----I got a hair cut today&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="left"&gt;I wish I could figure out things I don't understand.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Several times this week I've found myself in situations where I don't understand what's going on or why something just happened. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sometimes I wish there was a pilot whose job it was to fly into the air &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;toting&lt;/span&gt; a banner behind his plane that had answers for me. Just a little explanation for me during those times when I'm completely baffled by my situation. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Even better yet! How about he has a sidekick (not the phone, but the super hero assistant), and it's this sidekick's sole purpose to come up with a plan on how to handle these situations. The pilot's name would be Explanatory Man. His sidekick's name would be Little Buddie. Wait..I'll do you one better...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, what if Explanatory Man and Little Buddie teamed up with a wizard named &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Froderick&lt;/span&gt; Moonstone who had the power to make the situation go exactly the way Little Buddie planned it to!? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So there I'd be with my super team. They'd make my life so much easier. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;There'd&lt;/span&gt; be hardly any confusion or awkward situations. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I find that my days lately are full of confusion, and I'm just trying to figure out what direction to go. I've been on this crazy roller coaster just about every day, and all the ups and downs are making me sick!! I'd prefer a little less instability, and maybe a generous helping of perspective. But all in all...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;...I'm happy.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-4061147375626937587?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4061147375626937587/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=4061147375626937587' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4061147375626937587'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4061147375626937587'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/07/all-i-know-is-that-youre-so-nice.html' title='&quot;All I know is that you&apos;re so nice&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SmqLgLVU6kI/AAAAAAAAAE4/1IQbiRpRBRM/s72-c/Photo-0046.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-4746666592738928232</id><published>2009-07-14T19:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-14T19:41:55.845-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"You're the one who said you'd never leave."</title><content type='html'>I feel like I have a lot to talk about, and that maybe I just don't know where/how to start...&lt;br /&gt;There are people that come into our lives that are just normal people. Every once in a while though a person or two will enter your life who is extraordinary.&lt;br /&gt;In the past year I have been lucky enough to make friendships with a few of these people. Sometimes we never really know what kind of impact we've made on another person's life until they tell us. The smallest things can make such a difference in the lives of others.&lt;br /&gt;I wonder what kind of affect I have on the lives around me.&lt;br /&gt;I hope I'm the kind of friend that my friends need me to be. I hope that I can offer them something in their lives that no one else can. Is it selfish to want to be a great friend?&lt;br /&gt;One of my friends that I've known since we were babies is coming home soon. He's been serving a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints for the past two years. Before he left we didn't really talk. That's weird because when we were little we spent a lot of time together. I'm really excited for him to come home.&lt;br /&gt;What are the rules of friendship?&lt;br /&gt;I mean obviously there's the "do unto others..." rule.&lt;br /&gt;I just kind of wonder if there's more to it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-4746666592738928232?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4746666592738928232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=4746666592738928232' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4746666592738928232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4746666592738928232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/07/youre-one-who-said-youd-never-leave.html' title='&quot;You&apos;re the one who said you&apos;d never leave.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-6543947829227167949</id><published>2009-07-13T21:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-13T22:06:41.687-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"And those greens and those blues seem too perfect to be true."</title><content type='html'>Sometimes people make stupid decisions. I am one of those people...&lt;br /&gt;and have...&lt;br /&gt;on occasion, made a stupid decision.&lt;br /&gt;With that said I'd like to say I am so grateful for forgiveness.&lt;br /&gt;So anyway!&lt;br /&gt;I really like smiles. I've decided that's my thing. Every person has a "type." At work today I was trying to figure out what mine was, but I came up with nothing. The guys I've dated have been so different from one another that it was difficult to find the link.&lt;br /&gt;BUT&lt;br /&gt;...it &lt;em&gt;did&lt;/em&gt; come to me. That link? Smiles. I LOVE a guy with a gorgeous smile. That's what reels me in. You flash those pearly whites at me and I'm a goner!&lt;br /&gt;A thought just came to me...&lt;br /&gt;Another thing I &lt;em&gt;really&lt;/em&gt; like: legs.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if this is Valerie, Certified Fitness Trainer talking or what, but I have to say I like a man with good gams. Soccer players tend to have the BEST legs. &lt;-- That may not be based on fact whatsoever, but trust me...the next time you see David Beckham or Robbie Rogers, check out their calves....mmmmmm.&lt;br /&gt;I hope you enjoyed this peek into what Valerie finds attractive in a man.&lt;br /&gt;*side note: If you're a boy and you read this and start whitening your teeth or exercising your legs to get me to notice you, don't waste your time...I'm going on a mission ;)&lt;br /&gt;**side note #2: I'm a little delusional.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-6543947829227167949?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6543947829227167949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=6543947829227167949' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6543947829227167949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6543947829227167949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/07/and-those-greens-and-those-blues-seem.html' title='&quot;And those greens and those blues seem too perfect to be true.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-2463843417079518718</id><published>2009-07-10T09:19:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-10T09:46:15.904-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I try so hard not to show this side of me"</title><content type='html'>Hey hey hey!&lt;br /&gt;What's goin on blogettes!?&lt;br /&gt;So I'd like to use my blog as a platform to make a plea for help. If anyone that reads this knows a doctor that can give me a physical for my paperwork sooner than September 29th let me know please! Aside from that I've got some bloggin to do!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;Heroes:&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not the television show, but real live ones. I have a few that I'd like to talk about today.&lt;br /&gt;My heroes are regular everyday people. To the casual viewer there's nothing outstanding about any of these people, but to me they're amazing. From constant comfort and advice to being great examples of the person I'm trying to become these people inspire me on a daily basis. I learn so much from my heroes. Each one can be considered a powerhouse in their own respect. They've helped to inspire some of the best decisions I've ever made.&lt;br /&gt;Who are the heroes in your lives?? Do they know it? Do you give them the recognition they deserve?&lt;br /&gt;*side note* I was just called a sky scraper...&lt;br /&gt;My challenge to those who read my blog is this:&lt;br /&gt;Pick someone who is a hero in your life. Write them a song. It doesn't have to be good, but you do need to write them a song.&lt;br /&gt;It'll be so cool! ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-2463843417079518718?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2463843417079518718/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=2463843417079518718' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2463843417079518718'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2463843417079518718'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-try-so-hard-not-to-show-this-side-of.html' title='&quot;I try so hard not to show this side of me&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-3173699202537850928</id><published>2009-07-05T15:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-05T15:30:21.729-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Sing me something soft, sad and elegant."</title><content type='html'>I'd like to being today with an apology. Last week I ended my post with "XOXO Gossip Girl"&lt;br /&gt;What I failed to realize is a couple months ago a dear friend of mine used that sign-off in a blog of her own. Please forgive me.&lt;br /&gt;But I've got a lot of thoughts today so let's do this:&lt;br /&gt;First of all I'd like to explain how grateful I am for families. My friend's family is in town this week from New York. They are wonderful. They came to church today even though they aren't Mormon, and one of them even spoke in Fast and Testimony Meeting. Why did they do this? Because they're a family, and they knew that this church is important for my friend.&lt;br /&gt;My family has been super supportive lately. As you all know by now I am working on going on a mission. My family has been so fabulous in supporting that and helping me to accomplish it. I'm glad that I have a family that can encourage and enable me to go.&lt;br /&gt;Moving right along...&lt;br /&gt;I recently "broke up" with my significant other. For all of those who have been following our story I believe this is for the last time. We've been fighting what we know is right for a while. While I was dating this person it became increasingly difficult for me to focus on my mission. We were both filled with feelings that it wasn't right for us to date, but we both kept fighting these feelings. Well we finally decided to end it. (Fo'real this time.) The thing is...ever since we did this I've been filled with different feelings. Feelings of peace and happiness. I've been able to feel the spirit a lot better also. If it wasn't right I don't think I'd be feeling like this. Yes, it was very tough for us to come to this conclusion, but sometimes the right things are the hardest things.&lt;br /&gt;Doing them is what makes them worth it.&lt;br /&gt;NEXT!&lt;br /&gt;Lately I've been feeling strange. My emotions have been a little wacky lately. I get really upset about little things, and I've been feeling super attached to unimportant matters. I think the reason behind this is it's the adversary playing on my emotions. He knows I want to do this great thing. He doesn't want me to do it. I've been feeling pulled and stretched and I'm trying to understand the greater purpose in the things I do. My bishop told me that before I left for my mission that things were going to get tough. I feel that this is only the beginning, but I'm grateful that I'm recognizing it now so I can better prepare myself for what's to come.&lt;br /&gt;I've made a lot of new friends lately. This is weird for me because when I moved back from Utah I became very introverted and reclusive. I have to say that I like it. It fills me with so much happiness and reassurance. These people are great, and I know they want only the best for me.&lt;br /&gt;One last thought to end the post:&lt;br /&gt;I've been studying the Bible with my older sister lately. As she and I were studying last week I made a statement about faith that I'd like to share.&lt;br /&gt;It goes: We don't serve the Lord to prove to Him that we have faith. We serve because when we have faith it's something we desire to do naturally.&lt;br /&gt;Have a wonderful day my faithful readers!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-3173699202537850928?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3173699202537850928/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=3173699202537850928' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3173699202537850928'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3173699202537850928'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/07/sing-me-something-soft-sad-and-elegant.html' title='&quot;Sing me something soft, sad and elegant.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-309241399714614769</id><published>2009-06-30T19:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-30T20:08:04.147-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"How could you know that I don't feel right?"</title><content type='html'>Well Hello Bloggers!&lt;br /&gt;It's been a while. I'd like to start by saying that Danita Williams needs to write in her blog. WRITE IN YOUR BLOG WOMAN!&lt;br /&gt;Now that I've gotten that out of the way I shall proceed:&lt;br /&gt;So I've been working on my mission paperwork. I'd like to leave sometime this fall, but it's turning out to take a little longer than I was thinking it would. I guess that's one of the trials of my faith that comes before the miracle. ;)&lt;br /&gt;My testimony has grown so much lately, and I'd like to share a thought with all of you that I had recently during relief society.&lt;br /&gt;We were talking about doing temple work. Often times we automatically think about baptisms/confirmations when we talk about temple work.&lt;br /&gt;But this was my thought:&lt;br /&gt;Can you imagine finding that one person that you would give anything to be with? Can you imagine having all your dreams come true as he gets down on his knee, and asks you to be his companion for this life? Now imagine he goes on a trip to another country, and something happens where he can't come home. Every possible mode of transportation is cut off. He's completely isolated from you. But this is the person you want to spend forever with!&lt;br /&gt;Which leads me again to my thought:&lt;br /&gt;How amazing must it be for those people waiting on the other side to finally be sealed to that person that they've been cut off from!? To be reunited with the promise that you can spend forever together...gosh, I can't think of anything better :)&lt;br /&gt;And that's why I love this gospel. That's why I'm serving a mission. Because it gives me hope for eternal family, purpose in what I do, and answers to all my questions.&lt;br /&gt;Alma 29:1-9&lt;br /&gt;I LOVE this gospel and the peace and happiness it's brought to my life. I couldn't ask for a better gift.&lt;br /&gt;Well that about wraps it up for tonight!&lt;br /&gt;XOXO&lt;br /&gt;-Gossip Girl&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-309241399714614769?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/309241399714614769/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=309241399714614769' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/309241399714614769'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/309241399714614769'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/06/how-could-you-know-that-i-dont-feel.html' title='&quot;How could you know that I don&apos;t feel right?&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-770334905445314116</id><published>2009-06-07T20:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T20:28:10.115-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"The way black is black and blue is just blue"</title><content type='html'>Hey Comrades!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sorry it's been a bit since my last blog-activity. I find myself busy and lacking extra time. As some of you know these past two months have been interesting for me as far as my love life. I've struggled with a certain someone for a little while, but you will be pleased to hear it's all been put to rest. A really important person in my life once told me that I have a lot of potential, and that I should never settle for anything that makes me feel like I deserve less than I do. That being said, things are over.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moving on to much more important topics:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been toying with an interesting idea lately. I say it's interesting because it is. It's just that; interesting. I want to serve a mission for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints. It's a tiny bit difficult for me since I am divorced, but it's been known to happen before. These past few months my testimony has grown leaps and bounds, and I find myself bursting at the seams to share it all with the world. It's definitely something I'm going to look into.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another topic:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find that sometimes I'm surprised by things I do. I wonder if I really know myself very well. People are interesting creatures in that often times we act and react to things involuntarily. When we go through a break up we may try to make ourselves feel better by seeking attention. When we're hurting we may put on a front and pretend that everything is okay. When we're feeling insecure we may lash out at people around us to overcompensate for our feelings of inadequacy. Why do we do these things? Do they ever really make us feel better? No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lately when I find myself heading for situations like these the best course is to drop to my knees and thank the Lord for every great thing in my life. Instead of noticing what I'm without I spend time thanking the One that gave me what I have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so amazed at how much I need the Savior in my life. We all ask for help day after day, and He always gives us what we need. He asks for so little in return. I'm truly so thankful for my personal, individual blessings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a side note:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to a Q&amp;amp;A panel this past week. The panelists were three Mormons and two Muslims. I was shocked to find that our two religions are so similar. I think it's wonderful when, as children of God, we can get together and share our beliefs. It's great to be educated about something that is so innately important to other people. I expect people to sit and listen about what I believe, but how often do I listen to what others believe? It was a beautiful experience, and I'd love to continue to learn more. I learned a lot more about my religion that day as well...sometimes I think that from listening to others' beliefs...it puts into sharp focus things that we may not have noticed about our own. It was truly spectacular.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So boys and girls:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another day, another blog. Thank you for reading. I love you all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-770334905445314116?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/770334905445314116/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=770334905445314116' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/770334905445314116'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/770334905445314116'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/06/way-black-is-black-and-blue-is-just.html' title='&quot;The way black is black and blue is just blue&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-9067293685259271222</id><published>2009-05-18T13:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T13:51:25.375-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"All the matter in the world knows how much I like you."</title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;The State of the Valerie Address:&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My fellow Americans,&lt;br /&gt;       Things for Valerie have been going spectacularly. Not only did she finally get her new social security card, but she also refinanced her car loan. She's got a brand &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;spankin&lt;/span&gt; new interest rate and differed payments for six months! (Money in the bank!) She received not one, but TWO callings at church yesterday and will be set apart next week. Her dad got a new job that's even closer to home. This also means she won't have to move to Mississippi. Her best friend is dating a guy that just might be good enough for her. She's got a special someone in her life that treats her the way she should be treated. About a month ago she got a raise at work, and is on the right track to get more rewards. On Saturday evening she went to the circus with a few friends and loved every second of it. (Except for when Kat threw her spoon covered in snow cone at me...) She has plans next month to go on a big trip to &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Nauvoo&lt;/span&gt; which really excites her since she's never been before.&lt;br /&gt;Basically all you Valerie followers out there, things are going good for our fair heroine. ;)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-9067293685259271222?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/9067293685259271222/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=9067293685259271222' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/9067293685259271222'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/9067293685259271222'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/all-matter-in-world-knows-how-much-i.html' title='&quot;All the matter in the world knows how much I like you.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-2773124377086072567</id><published>2009-05-10T18:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-10T19:08:12.868-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"You don't know, but that's okay."</title><content type='html'>My head, right behind my eye balls, hurts. Ow.&lt;br /&gt;My belly is really full too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-2773124377086072567?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2773124377086072567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=2773124377086072567' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2773124377086072567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2773124377086072567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/you-dont-know-but-thats-okay.html' title='&quot;You don&apos;t know, but that&apos;s okay.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-6865659824279163985</id><published>2009-05-06T09:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T10:06:07.925-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I wish you'd hold my hand when I was upset."</title><content type='html'>I'm not really sure where to begin today...&lt;br /&gt;Sunday was a great day. However, along with all the wonderful things that happened that day came a bit of unwanted news. It was definitely something I didn't want to hear, and didn't think I'd have to for a while. I'm not really dealing with it all that well. I'm left confused and feeling a little empty. I'm exhausted from putting up a happy front. The past three days I've acted like it's all okay. I don't want people to see that I'm really upset about it, but I'm not sure why. So here I am. Wednesday afternoon eating cold &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Chinese&lt;/span&gt; food, typing in my blog, and thinking about plans for salsa dancing lessons that might not happen. Saturday is looming on the horizon. I don't know how I'll handle Saturday. I will say though that I don't know where I'd be without two crucial things. The first: My Friends. There were several people that I talked to immediately following this bad news. They were all spectacular. One in particular was especially great at making me laugh. Thanks, D. It's so good to know that when I need them most my friends come through with flying colors. The other person that really helped me through the first little while was of course the Lord. It's also of great comfort to me to know that no matter my problem if I get on my knees and pray that all my emptiness will be filled with a warm reassurance that someone loves me no matter what.&lt;br /&gt;So basically the topic of my blog today is that I don't know how to express what I'm feeling. Part of me wants "it" back. Another part knows that I don't need "it" to be happy.&lt;br /&gt;Then there's Saturday...&lt;br /&gt;Oh Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;Maybe if I go out into my yard and sing about rainbows my house will be picked up by a twister...hopefully I'll end up in a magical technicolor world where all I have to worry about is witches and trees that throw apples. I think I could handle that...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-6865659824279163985?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6865659824279163985/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=6865659824279163985' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6865659824279163985'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6865659824279163985'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-wish-youd-hold-my-hand-when-i-was.html' title='&quot;I wish you&apos;d hold my hand when I was upset.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-5794427488784198887</id><published>2009-04-29T12:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-01T18:52:34.511-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Your hair was long when we first met."</title><content type='html'>So a few of you have seen this blog coming for quite sometime.&lt;br /&gt;There's this guy :)&lt;br /&gt;He is truly amazing. Over the past little while our relationship has really grown. We talk every night. I don't really know what to say. He loves me and I feel the same way. He knows all of my faults and my mistakes. And still He loves me. I've told Him everything and He listens to it all. When I'm sad or lonely He's right there comforting me. He wraps his loving arms around me and let's me know that it's all okay. We've known each other for a long time, but we haven't really been this close before. I've experienced more love from Him than anyone I've ever known. He's given me some of the most amazing things. Sometimes I don't know what I'd do without Him.&lt;br /&gt;If you're wondering who this amazing man is...It's my Father in Heaven.&lt;br /&gt;And we all have the opportunity to have a relationship with Him as long as we act on it. He's waiting to be there for us. All we have to do is give Him that chance to be in our lives.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-5794427488784198887?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5794427488784198887/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=5794427488784198887' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5794427488784198887'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5794427488784198887'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/your-hair-was-long-when-we-first-met.html' title='&quot;Your hair was long when we first met.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-4222407112448703465</id><published>2009-04-27T10:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T12:20:00.983-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"One of these mornings you're gona rise up singing"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SfX2ky5RCuI/AAAAAAAAAEw/jxlCfz15pA4/s1600-h/kiss.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5329436846060538594" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SfX2ky5RCuI/AAAAAAAAAEw/jxlCfz15pA4/s200/kiss.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;You get two today ;)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had yet another profound conversation with a good friend today. The part from this conversation I'd like to talk about is: I think I need to figure out how to make where I am good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;He told me that he's contemplating moving out of state to go to another school. He mentioned that he ended up here in Ohio because he didn't really know what else to do. He said that he feels like there are things missing here that he might have if he were somewhere else.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think at one point in everyone's lives we all feel this way. For me it was right after I moved back from Utah. It's the whole "grass is greener" idea, but I think at some point you have to realize that anywhere you go is going to be missing something from where you've been. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I think happiness is what you make it...not where you're at. I think where you're at can play a big role in your happiness, but when it comes down to it we all have the potential to be perfectly happy anywhere we are. It's a matter of taking your lemons and making some lemonade.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I feel like this post has become riddled with cliches.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Another mistake that I think Christians in particular make is they assume that when they aren't happy it must be because they aren't doing what they're "supposed to be doing." Again, I firmly believe that our happiness is dependent on our making it. As people we get stir crazy thinking, "man, things just aren't going the way I wish they would for me here. I bet if I move there and start over everything will work itself out." What we often times come to find out is that things were better before we moved away and tried to make things better with a change of scenery. We're then haunted by all the things we had and what we're missing. Eventually some of us move back in an attempt to reclaim everything we've lost. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;On the other hand sometimes a change of location is exactly what we need to get our lives straightened out. I have several very good friends whose lives benefited from moving and starting over. Sometimes things can get so beyond repair that you have to just start from scratch. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The important thing to remember is that what it ultimately comes down to is what is going to be right for you in the end. If you do decide that moving is the right answer you have to be prepared for the fact that after all is said and done it may have been a mistake. You have to be ready to accept defeat and in most cases go back to where you started from and try again. The idea of moving and trying something new is a cruel mistress. :) It can't be entered into lightly, and before deciding upon it I think it's important to figure out if you can't make the right here and right now pretty fantastic.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-4222407112448703465?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4222407112448703465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=4222407112448703465' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4222407112448703465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4222407112448703465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/one-of-these-mornings-youre-gona-rise.html' title='&quot;One of these mornings you&apos;re gona rise up singing&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SfX2ky5RCuI/AAAAAAAAAEw/jxlCfz15pA4/s72-c/kiss.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-7960205809532448809</id><published>2009-04-27T09:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-27T09:33:57.267-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Waiting for the rain to stop...destination's beautiful."</title><content type='html'>So I haven't blogged in a while. I didn't think anyone had really noticed...and yet I have a fan!! :D&lt;br /&gt;(I love ya, D!)&lt;br /&gt;So yesterday was Fast and Testimony Meeting. For those who don't know it's usually the first Sunday of the month, and during our Sacrament Meeting the members are invited to stand at the pulpit and speak about what they believe in. It's a really great way to build each other up as children of God.&lt;br /&gt;As some of you know I'm not a very shy person. However, when it comes to public speaking and hearing my voice amplified...I'm a huge chicken. Saturday night I kind of decided that I was going to try and do the testimony thing the next day. So I'm sitting in church and there was this huge gap between people...no one would get up and give me a chance to say, "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ok&lt;/span&gt;...after this person I'll go." So here I am having this inner struggle about getting up to speak and finally &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;someone&lt;/span&gt; got up. As I'm listening to this testimony I decide to say a little prayer to be able to go up and speak without passing out. Then suddenly I was on my feet and walking towards the front of the room...then the other girl was finished with her testimony and there I was. I looked down and there was a big black microphone staring at me. I looked forward and realized that there were a TON of people at church! Dang. So I open my mouth and say my part. It wasn't very big...just a little blurb about saying prayers, and how I know that they'll be answered if you have real intent.&lt;br /&gt;The best part was when I sat back down in my seat after I was done. I felt this calming assurance wash over me. I smiled because I knew that the Lord had answered my prayer about being able to speak in front of everyone (about prayer ironically) without losing it.&lt;br /&gt;On a more personal note: Oh dang!!!!! D....I can't even begin to explain how great it is :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-7960205809532448809?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/7960205809532448809/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=7960205809532448809' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7960205809532448809'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7960205809532448809'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/waiting-for-rain-to-stopdestinations.html' title='&quot;Waiting for the rain to stop...destination&apos;s beautiful.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-8881091329550894140</id><published>2009-04-13T10:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-13T11:17:17.869-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"The waiting is the hardest part."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SeN9FCfHgaI/AAAAAAAAAEo/WqR8UOPPcIg/s1600-h/Picture+012.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5324236710002262434" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SeN9FCfHgaI/AAAAAAAAAEo/WqR8UOPPcIg/s200/Picture+012.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I was listening to a song last night that took me on a walk down memory lane. I sent a link to my friend so they could listen to it too. He laughed and told me the song* was ridiculous, and the singer even more "goofy." I then continued to explain the reason why I love the song. The memories of hanging out with my mom during the day when my older sister was at school. Dancing and singing this song at the tops of our lungs. Getting out the mini trampoline and dancing on that so I could try to be as tall as my mom. Good times!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had a completely separate conversation with another friend about something similar. We spoke about our favorite smells. The reason we love these smells is because each one invokes a different good memory. For him it was the smell of leather in his car, pine trees around Christmas time, and airplane fuel. These all brought back good memories: when he bought his car, times with family, and his passion for flying airplanes (respectively). Mine also brought back memories. Kool-aid - those hot childhood summer days playing in the front yard with my friends and Mom bringing us refreshment, Sam's paws - the day I brought her home from the pound, and sauteed garlic and onions - my cooking classes back in high school. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So basically what I'm getting at here is this: take time to make memories. If something is "good" savor it. Take time to be excellent, extreme, and infinite. Break the rules now and then. Make friends that go out of their way to be ridiculous! Just because life is hard (as it is for most people) doesn't mean that it has to be all the time...when those moments happen grab onto them and don't let them go. Sometimes when things are hardest we can make things easier on ourselves by remembering simpler days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Enjoy the now for later.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*Incidentally, the song I was listening to is found here: &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anCg5EiB2AM"&gt;http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=anCg5EiB2AM&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-8881091329550894140?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8881091329550894140/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=8881091329550894140' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8881091329550894140'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8881091329550894140'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/waiting-is-hardest-part.html' title='&quot;The waiting is the hardest part.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SeN9FCfHgaI/AAAAAAAAAEo/WqR8UOPPcIg/s72-c/Picture+012.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-6701783134095433005</id><published>2009-04-07T20:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T20:55:10.682-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"That kind of love was the killin kind."</title><content type='html'>I don't know if it's because I dream of grandeur, or if I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;delusional&lt;/span&gt; from watching too much Grey's Anatomy......&lt;br /&gt;but I want to be a Doctor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-6701783134095433005?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6701783134095433005/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=6701783134095433005' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6701783134095433005'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6701783134095433005'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/that-kind-of-love-was-killin-kind.html' title='&quot;That kind of love was the killin kind.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-2660921844790696312</id><published>2009-04-02T21:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-02T21:40:26.409-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"And it's never felt like this before. It's never felt like home."</title><content type='html'>So as you may have read in my last blog my mind has been busy lately. I've decided to make some really important changes in my life, and I'm super excited about them. They are as follows:&lt;br /&gt;1. Growing my hair out long. Upon first glance you may ask yourself, "Why is this an important change?" Well, if you don't already know I have never had long hair. When my hair gets to be about as long as my chin I get pretty nervous and cut it all off. Not this time though. I think I need to do this in order to strengthen my resolve in setting goals.&lt;br /&gt;2. I'm going back to school. This one is pretty obvious about why it's important. I was watching a TV show about doctors the other day, and I realized that they had a pretty important job. Doctors, that is...not actors. On a daily basis they're working to save lives. About the most important thing I do in my profession is make management look good so they can get their bonuses. Lame. So I'm going back to school. My goal is to have enough money by Spring of 2010 to go back. I'm still toying with what I want to do from E.S.L. teacher to nurse practitioner. There's a whole slew of options I'm considering, but that's the best part...that I have options. :)&lt;br /&gt;3. I'm taking a time-out on dating. I've always been pretty straight forward and aggressive when it came to dating. However, I'm taking a new approach. No dating. None. If a guy asks me on a date I'll say yes, but as far as being serious with anyone...I just don't think I'm ready for multiple reasons. It's time to become comfortable being with me, and when I can achieve that, then I can work on becoming comfortable with someone else.&lt;br /&gt;-Also-&lt;br /&gt;Whilst I was doing all of this thinking I figured something out.&lt;br /&gt;In a good relationship there's a distinct difference between love and commitment. What is love? (Baby don't hurt me) Love is ignoring faults. Love is passion. Love is difficult. Love is a feeling; an emotion. Love comes from being "in love." Love is understanding someone for who they are, and accepting that they aren't perfect. Love is the thing in relationships that lasts long after you've discovered the other person's dirt. Can we have love without commitment? What is commitment? Commitment is honesty. Commitment is trust. Commitment is honoring and respecting someone beyond yourself. See the thing is...I think you can be "in love" without commitment. And I think you can be committed to someone that you don't love. But to truly love someone...like the capital L kind of Love...I think total commitment is required. If you don't have that, then how can you say you really love someone?&lt;br /&gt;This all made a lot more sense in my head, and as I'm writing it now I find that I'm not saying what I want to say...but oh well.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-2660921844790696312?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2660921844790696312/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=2660921844790696312' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2660921844790696312'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2660921844790696312'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/04/and-its-never-felt-like-this-before-its.html' title='&quot;And it&apos;s never felt like this before. It&apos;s never felt like home.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1663976631427191804</id><published>2009-03-24T19:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T19:25:51.578-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"You make it hard to smile because you make it hard to breathe"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/ScmV7iWl5wI/AAAAAAAAAEg/QmgOVHuFN3Y/s1600-h/Picture+004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5316945685153965826" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/ScmV7iWl5wI/AAAAAAAAAEg/QmgOVHuFN3Y/s200/Picture+004.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My thoughts are all &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;jumbly&lt;/span&gt; tonight. I'm going to share what that's like with you:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Secondhand Serenade songs keep getting stuck in my head,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Don't forget your bill,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Gotta fix my phone problem,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Plan movie night,&lt;br /&gt;Dinner on the 30&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;th&lt;/span&gt; at the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Hartzell's&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Riding with Kimmy on Sunday,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Work at 5 tomorrow,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Talk to Alan,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Work on resume,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Get computer fixed,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Another Secondhand Serenade song,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Save money for gas,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Look into hotel prices for Virginia Beach,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Pay sister,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What did he mean when he said that!?,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Say your prayers before bed,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why isn't he online?? I need to get this figured out,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Work at 9 on Thursday,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ask Erica how dentist went,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Research &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;carcinoid&lt;/span&gt; cancer,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yet another Secondhand Serenade song,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What is he thinking!?,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Text Morgan,&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;FOOOOOOOOOOOD&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;:) wasn't that fun!?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1663976631427191804?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1663976631427191804/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1663976631427191804' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1663976631427191804'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1663976631427191804'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/03/you-make-it-hard-to-smile-because-you.html' title='&quot;You make it hard to smile because you make it hard to breathe&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/ScmV7iWl5wI/AAAAAAAAAEg/QmgOVHuFN3Y/s72-c/Picture+004.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-3488470160430336649</id><published>2009-03-23T10:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T11:02:05.489-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"You've got me standing in an awkward position with unwanted attention"</title><content type='html'>Today is a good day! :)&lt;br /&gt;Ju wana know how come?&lt;br /&gt;I'll tell you!&lt;br /&gt;The sun is shining. It's so warm and sunny. It really puts me in a good mood! But that's not all...&lt;br /&gt;I was talking to someone that I know from church who has an unfortunate illness. She's doing okay, but things are tough for her. She's a single mother of a twelve year old boy. For as long as I've known this woman I've had super respect for her. She's a power house! She's done very well in raising her son on her own, and just impresses me more each time I talk to her. Since she is very sick she's out of work, and I imagine her Dr. bills are astronomical. This presents a problem as it is baseball season and her son needs new equipment. She doesn't have tons of money and was worried about paying for it all. By some act of divine inspiration I jumped in my car and scooted over to Dick's Sporting Goods. I grabbed the store manager and asked him if there was anything we could do. To my great delight he told me that we could help her out! I returned home quickly to tell her the news. She was so grateful and so happy. My heart is SO full of joy today because I'm able to help this family out. I'm so excited to see her son's face when he gets his brand new baseball gear for free!!! What a wonderful blessing!&lt;br /&gt;I'm really beginning to understand that "when you are in the service of your fellow being you are in the service of your God."&lt;br /&gt;BUT THAT'S NOT ALL!!!!&lt;br /&gt;I got my car back today as well! It doesn't look like anything happened to it! What great work. Plus!!! I didn't have to pay for any of the repair. My dad found this wonderful guy that didn't charge US a penny (he only accepted the insurance company's money).&lt;br /&gt;Man oh man! Things may be tough right now, but put your faith in the Lord and he ALWAYS comes through!!! :D&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-3488470160430336649?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3488470160430336649/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=3488470160430336649' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3488470160430336649'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3488470160430336649'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/03/youve-got-me-standing-in-awkward.html' title='&quot;You&apos;ve got me standing in an awkward position with unwanted attention&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-5354212652112786387</id><published>2009-03-16T19:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T21:10:38.166-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"Go on ahead and let it fade away."</title><content type='html'>I have some interesting thoughts tonight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Excited? :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I saw just about the most disturbing commercial on t.v. a few moments ago. I won't divulge too many details because I don't believe it deserves promotion of any kind. To put it simply it was an ad for a website where you can find people in your area to date. However, this isn't your every day e.harmony business....oh no. It's for married people who want to have an affair. How disgusting! Am I the only one that's appalled at how the world has become so disgraceful!? Upon further investigation I found that this website is endorsed not only by Dr. Phil, but also Tyra Banks &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;and&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; the all-powerful Oprah Winfrey. The slogan at the end of the commercial is, "when divorce isn't an option."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It definitely begs the question: "What is happening to the world?" Among other thoughts. What an awful shame.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;My other locomotion of mind commotion tonight is a little lighter. I witnessed crime tonight. Oh yeah. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A group of friends and I had just frequented the local United Dairy Farmers for ice cream and other treats. Upon our loitering just outside the doors a man burst from inside the establishment with a couple cases of beer tucked under his arm. He quickly sprinted around us, and dove into a car parked around the corner. However, hot on his trail was a very large, angry employee of U.D.F. This dedicated counter clerk proceeded to jump on top of the "get-away car," and he remained on said car until it drove away subsequently knocking him off. The dejected man rose to his feet and head hanging, returned to his position. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Meanwhile, my group of friends and I are still staring, with mouths open in astonishment at the occurrence happening all around us. After the scene unfolded before our eyes we all took a moment to joke about what we could have done to help out the counter clerk, and how we could have possibly stopped the malfeasance. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was definitely an entertaining situation, and we now all have a special admiration for a certain stalwart cashier. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let my blog be posted with a note of warning though, kiddies.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Stealing is bad. It is not a joke and should never be taken lightly. As the Good Lord once said, "Thou shalt not steal." So while my comrades and I got a kick out of tonight's events...remember...Thou shalt not...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-5354212652112786387?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5354212652112786387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=5354212652112786387' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5354212652112786387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5354212652112786387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/03/go-on-ahead-and-let-it-fade-away.html' title='&quot;Go on ahead and let it fade away.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1922642617884604941</id><published>2009-03-13T13:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T17:05:55.415-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"What I've done cannot be repeated"</title><content type='html'>tres tres interesante&lt;br /&gt;Do you ever get the feeling that sometimes you make your life more difficult than it needs to be? :) I definitely do that from time to time. I've decided that I'm wound pretty tight lately, and I'm going to use this month to just relax. Let the good times roll.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1922642617884604941?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1922642617884604941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1922642617884604941' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1922642617884604941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1922642617884604941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/03/what-ive-done-cannot-be-repeated.html' title='&quot;What I&apos;ve done cannot be repeated&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1191496057991790992</id><published>2009-03-08T14:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-08T14:35:21.809-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"The change you'd bring means nothing else will be the same"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SbQ4lrOcLZI/AAAAAAAAADw/XZpDxnesKhY/s1600-h/Photo-0026.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5310932080486264210" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 160px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SbQ4lrOcLZI/AAAAAAAAADw/XZpDxnesKhY/s200/Photo-0026.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;HOOBOY&lt;/span&gt;! What an evening! Last night was one of the most interesting nights I've had in a good long while :). Went on an &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;AMAZA&lt;/span&gt;-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;ZA&lt;/span&gt;-ZING date with an outstanding young man. Had a picnic, watched some movies....oh yeah and I hit a deer with my car. :(   (that part was kinda stinky!)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But it's all okay. The deer lives to be hit another day, and my car...well my car is a little worse for wear, but we're all alive and doing just fine.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;But man...what an interesting situation. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I won't go into detail, but I'm not giving up without a fight. It's too good to give up, and this time I want to make sure I do everything in my power to make it work. :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What an evening.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1191496057991790992?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1191496057991790992/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1191496057991790992' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1191496057991790992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1191496057991790992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/03/change-youd-bring-means-nothing-else.html' title='&quot;The change you&apos;d bring means nothing else will be the same&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SbQ4lrOcLZI/AAAAAAAAADw/XZpDxnesKhY/s72-c/Photo-0026.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-6406613527689464302</id><published>2009-03-02T09:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T09:47:45.110-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"And I don't usually notice peoples' eyes...but"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SawZDLqvrfI/AAAAAAAAADo/haugxeJCBjY/s1600-h/Thursday,+June+14,+2007+(17).jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5308645603225349618" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 140px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SawZDLqvrfI/AAAAAAAAADo/haugxeJCBjY/s200/Thursday,+June+14,+2007+(17).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;First of all I would just like to point out that my opinion on donuts held up. Even through a rigorous, blind taste test. So way to go Timmy Ho's...your donuts reign supreme.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway I'm leaving for Utah in about two weeks. That's just spectacular. I know a few of you are a little confused right now. You may be asking yourself, "...but Valerie, didn't you say in a previous blog that you aboslutely hate Utah?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes. I did say that I hate Utah. The reason? I hate Utah. However, some of my best friends still live there, and even though they have poor taste in states I still miss them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Which is why I'm sooooo stoked! :) Plus, we're going to Vegas for a few days, and that's just about the best thing ya ever heard; most excitin' anyway!! (name that movie). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-6406613527689464302?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6406613527689464302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=6406613527689464302' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6406613527689464302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6406613527689464302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/03/and-i-dont-usually-notice-peoples.html' title='&quot;And I don&apos;t usually notice peoples&apos; eyes...but&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SawZDLqvrfI/AAAAAAAAADo/haugxeJCBjY/s72-c/Thursday,+June+14,+2007+(17).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1150485882891494782</id><published>2009-02-26T11:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-26T11:39:18.638-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"There's a lot to learn about Joan."</title><content type='html'>I have a friend. You aren't supposed to be shocked by that statement. This friend thinks that I have poor taste in donuts. So he thinks that he's going to school me on the fine art of donut selection. Little does he know that I don't even like donuts. I spent a good portion of my childhood getting very upset with boxes of donuts. In fact, when I was in high school i wrote a song about my dislike of donuts appropriately entitled "The Donut Song," and performed it at an open mic night. Needless to say it was quite a hit among my friends at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Gahanna&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Lincoln High School.&lt;br /&gt;I let his condescension slide as he signed off &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;facebook&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; chat today, but only to let him feel like he knows what he's talking about because I'm a humanitarian.&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't until I went to Canada for vacation with my family in 1994 that I had a donut I liked. The only problem was these donuts were only sold in Canada. What donuts were they? Tim &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Hortons&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. Oh man. I have yet to eat a donut from Tim &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;Hortons&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; that I haven't liked.&lt;br /&gt;The thing is, I almost feel sorry for my friend because his efforts are going to prove fruitless. When they finally brought Tim &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Hortons&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; to Ohio (and down the street I might add) my life became complete. To prove that Tim &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;Hortons&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; is the best place to get donuts let's look at a small, simple fact.&lt;br /&gt;Utah has yet to get a Tim &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Hortons&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. Do you know why that is? Because Utah is the worst state in the Continental United States (obviously Alaska is the worst state, but we'll leave it alone for this post). We all know how much I hate Utah, and Utah's idea of a delicious donut is the vomit-inducing &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;Dunkin&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; Donuts. It's true, the entire time I lived in Utah I didn't eat a donut.&lt;br /&gt;When I asked a spokesman from Tim &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;Hortons&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; why Utah is without their delicious donut chain his response was this: "Utah is dumb."&lt;br /&gt;Well put anonymous spokesman from Tim &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;Hortons&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt; that I probably made up.&lt;br /&gt;So to make a long story a little less long, bring it on Chris &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10"&gt;Sorenson&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;. Do your worst.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*edit*&lt;br /&gt;Due to overwhelming demand, here are the song lyrics for "The Donut Song"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;The Donut Song&lt;/u&gt; By: Valerie &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11"&gt;Mizer&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Based on actual events&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sitting in my hotel room, there wasn't much for me to do,&lt;br /&gt;I heard a rumble in my gut, I was craving a donut.&lt;br /&gt;I got into my car and drove, could only think of donut dough,&lt;br /&gt;Into the store I bought the stuff, I sure hope that I got enough.&lt;br /&gt;Sitting in my room again, I opened up the box of 10,&lt;br /&gt;I tried to choose which one to eat, the sprinkled one's the one for me.&lt;br /&gt;I picked it up, I took a bite, something about it wasn't right,&lt;br /&gt;I put it down and chose this time a cream filled one, my favorite kind.&lt;br /&gt;That one tasted funny too, the baker there, he must be new,&lt;br /&gt;Donuts suck, I'm sure of it. Now how can I dispose of this?&lt;br /&gt;The hotel room it had a ledge, a balcony, so on the edge,&lt;br /&gt;I brought the donuts that I bought, I planned to throw the whole dang box.&lt;br /&gt;Arrested by the cops again, I guess that it's illegal when,&lt;br /&gt;you throw your doughnuts off a ledge, it hit somebody on the head.&lt;br /&gt;Some idiot just standing there, when he could be standing anywhere,&lt;br /&gt;who knows what he was doing there, he now has sprinkles in his hair.&lt;br /&gt;Sitting in my prison cell, my cell mate's name is &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12"&gt;Jezebell&lt;/span&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;he asked me what I'm in here for,&lt;br /&gt;Throwing my Donuts off the Seventh Floor.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1150485882891494782?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1150485882891494782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1150485882891494782' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1150485882891494782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1150485882891494782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/02/theres-lot-to-learn-about-joan.html' title='&quot;There&apos;s a lot to learn about Joan.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-4621751534358277522</id><published>2009-02-21T20:59:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-22T15:14:11.602-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"If I kiss you where it's sore will you feel better?"</title><content type='html'>I learned something important tonight.&lt;br /&gt;Tonight sucked.&lt;br /&gt;That's not what I learned.&lt;br /&gt;For months now I've been so proud of the fact that I'm becoming more and more independent. What I found out tonight is I'm not half as independent as I should be.&lt;br /&gt;I mean, I pay my bills. I have my own phone, car, blah blah blah...all the things that make me superficially independent, but when it comes down to it my independence is so transparent.&lt;br /&gt;I rely so much on other people for my happiness. I don't know why I do it, but I do.&lt;br /&gt;I'm making a really tough move into going to the singles ward full time at church. For those who don't know the singles ward is where all of the unmarried college age people go in an attempt to marry us off.&lt;br /&gt;This is really hard for me. I don't know many people there. The ones I do know don't really like me all that well, and I'm not the best at making friends anymore.&lt;br /&gt;I've gotten to a point where I have a solid group of friends that I just love. They make me very happy. As most of you know I have issues with trusting new people. Whether or not I'm justified in my being suspicious of people's actions isn't the point.&lt;br /&gt;My biggest hurdle to try to get over is the "D word."&lt;br /&gt;Not many people at the singles ward know my secret. I would say a good handful do, but as for the general populous...they're kind of in the dark. Not because I'm keeping it a secret. I just don't go around proclaiming it to the world. I figure it's one of those "need to know basis" kind of things.&lt;br /&gt;But really, how many 21 year old divorced girls are there at the singles ward?&lt;br /&gt;And why do I let it make me so vulnerable?&lt;br /&gt;A boy was mean to me tonight. This boy has been mean to me since I was fourteen. I have no idea why. He just doesn't like me.&lt;br /&gt;He said a few things to me tonight that hurt my feelings, and I took it really personal. The thing that hurt the most was seeing my best friend (pay attention! this is one of those people that I'm talking about relying on too heavily for my happiness) laugh along with him.&lt;br /&gt;She didn't come to my rescue.&lt;br /&gt;I got really bitter about the whole thing.&lt;br /&gt;As I fumed over this for the past couple hours I realized something. Why didn't I laugh along? It was just a joke at my expense. Why was I waiting for my friend to back me up? Why was it her &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;responsibility&lt;/span&gt; to make this bad situation turn into a happy one?&lt;br /&gt;So this is my conclusion: I'm an adult and I don't need anyone to hold my hand through tough times. Yes, I've gone through some really hard things pretty recently, but isn't it time to let go? Isn't it time to bear the world on my shoulders again instead of sharing it with people around me? So from here on out...I'm going to man-up, soldier on, and all those other Sylvester Stallone inspired phrases.&lt;br /&gt;Side note: why do they call him Sly? It's spelled S-y-l...oh well.&lt;br /&gt;Time to make my own happiness!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-4621751534358277522?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4621751534358277522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=4621751534358277522' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4621751534358277522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4621751534358277522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/02/if-i-kiss-you-where-its-sore-will-you.html' title='&quot;If I kiss you where it&apos;s sore will you feel better?&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-4083816516201639785</id><published>2009-02-16T21:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T21:34:25.528-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I know better not to be friends with boys with girlfriends"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SZpKxuLFglI/AAAAAAAAADg/OQ6I_AiA1rg/s1600-h/d+gen+v"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5303633729250755154" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 154px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SZpKxuLFglI/AAAAAAAAADg/OQ6I_AiA1rg/s200/d+gen+v" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hate boys.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hate boys that live hundreds of miles away. I hate boys in different time zones. I hate boys that withhold important information until really inopportune moments. I hate boys that drink and smoke. I hate boys that are virtually unattainable. I hate boys that gloat. I hate boys who are famous. I hate boys that sing duets with girls in movies. I hate boys who are needy. I hate boys that are busy. I hate boys that are afraid of commitment. I hate boys that don't exercise and brag about it. I hate boys that have an enormous ego. I hate boys that don't like me. I hate boys that like me. I hate boys that confuse and tease for fun. I hate boys that leave girls. I hate boys that aren't older than me. I hate boys that are shorter than me. I hate boys that love too much. I hate boys that look at other girls when I'm around. I hate boys that hate other boys. I hate boys that don't maintain personal hygiene. I hate boys that expect me to shave my legs every day. I hate boys that take advantage. Boys are dumb. They hurt peoples' feelings.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hate boys. End of story.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-4083816516201639785?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4083816516201639785/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=4083816516201639785' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4083816516201639785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4083816516201639785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-know-better-not-to-be-friends-with.html' title='&quot;I know better not to be friends with boys with girlfriends&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SZpKxuLFglI/AAAAAAAAADg/OQ6I_AiA1rg/s72-c/d+gen+v' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-7530894225852974529</id><published>2009-02-10T23:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T23:39:09.822-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I know a short-cut along the stone wall, where evergreen soldiers point their branches..."</title><content type='html'>It's the downhill side of 2 a.m.&lt;br /&gt;What am I doing up?&lt;br /&gt;Nothing. :) Nada.&lt;br /&gt;Can't sleep.&lt;br /&gt;So here I am. Pecking away at these keys.&lt;br /&gt;What do I have to say?&lt;br /&gt;Nothing. :) Nada.&lt;br /&gt;My brain is already asleep, I think.&lt;br /&gt;The rest of me just needs to catch up.&lt;br /&gt;I did it to myself, though.&lt;br /&gt;I can't stop thinking about this trip to Utah.&lt;br /&gt;It's exciting and probably ill-timed.&lt;br /&gt;I guess the World Cup qualifying match tomorrow between U.S. and Mexico will be exciting.&lt;br /&gt;I hope we win.&lt;br /&gt;I might watch it with Brent.&lt;br /&gt;He likes soccer.&lt;br /&gt;My tummy is upset.&lt;br /&gt;Did you enjoy this post?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-7530894225852974529?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/7530894225852974529/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=7530894225852974529' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7530894225852974529'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7530894225852974529'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-know-short-cut-along-stone-wall-where.html' title='&quot;I know a short-cut along the stone wall, where evergreen soldiers point their branches...&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-2214830870877662912</id><published>2009-02-06T13:53:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T14:18:38.733-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"This is my face covered in freckles"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SYy1KKTodSI/AAAAAAAAADQ/tY4dn90qmq0/s1600-h/Thursday,+June+14,+2007+(4).jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5299810047678248226" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 138px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SYy1KKTodSI/AAAAAAAAADQ/tY4dn90qmq0/s200/Thursday,+June+14,+2007+(4).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went to get my paycheck today. I want to discuss an interesting topic...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I recently got a promotion with which a considerable pay raise is expected. Well, as Dick's Sporting Goods likes to do, I got screwed. I didn't get my raise. :( Needless to say I was upset. Since I didn't get my raise I can't afford to pay some of my bills this month. So I went to go talk to my manager...who was conveniently shut away in his office in an "interview." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I see my favorite manager Brad Little. This guy is seriously the best. I stop in to say and ask him to let Alan know I needed to talk. He says, "What's wrong sweet pea? You look upset." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I lose it right there. I just start crying about how I only get 5 hours a week, and without my raise I can't afford life on that few hours. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;How can someone as inconsequential as a manager (that doesn't even cover my department) reduce me to a miserable shell of my bright, bubbly self?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The answer: Because he cares. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And it all came out. Everything. I can't afford my bills, my dad is losing his job, my mom has to have surgery, my dog is dying, my heart has been acting up...and all I want is more hours and the raise I was promised. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Brad just sat and listened to my problems patiently. That's all. I wasn't looking for any kind of answer just someone to pretend they cared for a moment. I'm sure Brad has problems of his own, and they're probably bigger than mine. But for that moment he cared.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;After I was done he says to me, "I'll look into your raise for you. Would you like that?" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ugh, he's the best. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Granted he'll probably get very busy and forget to ask, but the fact that he was willing to be there for me when I needed it was enough for me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So good news faithful blog followers! The recent barrage of depressing posts is coming to an end. I just needed a good cry/get everything off my chest session and I'm good as new!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;To those who have tried the past couple days to get me to open up (you know who you are) it's not that I didn't want to talk to you...I just wasn't ready until today. I had to get to the breaking point, and Brad was the one that just happened to be around for it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-2214830870877662912?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2214830870877662912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=2214830870877662912' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2214830870877662912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2214830870877662912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/02/this-is-my-face-covered-in-freckles.html' title='&quot;This is my face covered in freckles&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SYy1KKTodSI/AAAAAAAAADQ/tY4dn90qmq0/s72-c/Thursday,+June+14,+2007+(4).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-3047870094807800522</id><published>2009-02-04T11:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-04T11:32:41.488-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"She greets the day with her hair wet, and asks them to vacate the building..."</title><content type='html'>Ok this one's gotta be quick.&lt;br /&gt;Just have to get it out of my system.&lt;br /&gt;I really need my best friend right now. I love her more than anything. She's the best at getting me through tough times, but right now all she can talk about is how much she misses Cameron. There's so much that I need to tell her. I need her to understand and sympathize with me. Just for a few seconds...just to get it all off my chest so I can move on. What happened to her? Where did she go? I'm slowly being replaced in her life...she's even found someone else to watch zombie movies with. That's something she does with me.&lt;br /&gt;Sigh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-3047870094807800522?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3047870094807800522/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=3047870094807800522' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3047870094807800522'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3047870094807800522'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/02/she-greets-day-with-her-hair-wet-and.html' title='&quot;She greets the day with her hair wet, and asks them to vacate the building...&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-6602852783118050796</id><published>2009-02-02T11:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-02T11:46:28.821-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"There is nothing for me but to love you"</title><content type='html'>So I've found lately that I've been more than eager to dole out advice to people...but rarely listen to what I'm saying. I feel like maybe I've been alienating friends and family because I can be...what's the word? A jerk. I consider myself an outspoken person and I'm not afraid to say much. However, I rarely concern myself with what it is I'm really saying. Who do I hurt with the things I say? Are the consequences of what I'm saying potentially harmful?&lt;br /&gt;I have a thought on where it's all come from. About 6 months ago I went out of my way to be extra nice to everyone around me. I was upbeat and cheerful all the time. No matter what situation I ran into I saw the "silver lining." I believe I got to the point where I was being insincere to myself and those around me. I was pretending that I wasn't hurting or frustrated.&lt;br /&gt;I need to somehow find a balance between embracing my pain and lashing out, and being sickeningly happy about everything.&lt;br /&gt;So here's my goal: I'm going to try to be honest with my feelings when things happen; yet at the same time make sure I'm not being tactless and harsh to those around me.&lt;br /&gt;I think at first it's going to be difficult because it's not natural. The natural way to deal with things for humans is to either act on the first impulse on how they feel about something, or push it down and pretend like everything is okay. I think this is a good goal for me because it'll seriously change the way I am to everyone near and dear. ;)&lt;br /&gt;**Disclaimer**&lt;br /&gt;If you notice that things aren't working out the way I plan them to (I plan for the world to come together in a beautiful harmony...or at least improve my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;snarky&lt;/span&gt; attitude) PLEASE let me know. remind me of this blog, and say something really douche-y like, "Valerie, I thought you said you weren't going to be a jerk anymore?" I could probably use a shot of humility to the face...or five&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-6602852783118050796?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6602852783118050796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=6602852783118050796' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6602852783118050796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6602852783118050796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/02/there-is-nothing-for-me-but-to-love-you.html' title='&quot;There is nothing for me but to love you&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-7550439270208495206</id><published>2009-02-01T13:59:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-01T14:09:06.837-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"How can I explain that you did everything the right way?"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SYYbiTvmP2I/AAAAAAAAADI/XsKu0xqpbG0/s1600-h/Monday,+July+17,+2006+(7).jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297952287877381986" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 134px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SYYbiTvmP2I/AAAAAAAAADI/XsKu0xqpbG0/s200/Monday,+July+17,+2006+(7).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about really important matters. Example: I feel like my life is split in two. Part of me LOVES Ohio! I adore it. My family, friends, the weather...Ohio has it all. I grew up here. Ohio has seen some truly massive moments of my life...however...there is a BIG big part of my heart that's left in Utah. Oh Utah. The mountains, my old &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;roommies&lt;/span&gt; (most of them anyway), the places...Utah has it all.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Another big topic I've been thinking about is how far I've come in the past year. So much has happened to me since last January. It's crazy how fast time goes...especially when there's a lot going on. I'm just so thankful for all the support and love I've gotten. :) I know I say it a lot, but thanks to all my friends and family. You guys are the definition of unconditional love.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-7550439270208495206?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/7550439270208495206/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=7550439270208495206' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7550439270208495206'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7550439270208495206'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/02/how-can-i-explain-that-you-did.html' title='&quot;How can I explain that you did everything the right way?&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SYYbiTvmP2I/AAAAAAAAADI/XsKu0xqpbG0/s72-c/Monday,+July+17,+2006+(7).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1739013371557733082</id><published>2009-01-30T11:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T11:47:50.103-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Hit me, knock me out and let me go back to sleep"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SYNXO9vXTeI/AAAAAAAAADA/DRgJwQZJUEc/s1600-h/Picture+008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5297173501320842722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SYNXO9vXTeI/AAAAAAAAADA/DRgJwQZJUEc/s200/Picture+008.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I kinda hate my paranoia in reference to relationships of any kind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;With that said let's divulge the topic for today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A bunch of us friends were hanging out the other night, and I had my dog with me. Those who have met my dog can attest to the needy nature of said dog. We were playing video games and Sam (my dog) stands up, walks across the room, and lays down on my lap. It interrupted my video game thus ending my character's life. I took my frustration out on Sam.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She ruined it for me though. She looked up at me with those big amber eyes, put her ears back and pouted. I couldn't be angry with her. All she wanted was my love. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I melted. How does that dog have the power to do that to me!? All she has to do is look at me with her sad face and I'm reduced. I suppose this is what being a mom is sort of like. In it's very basic form, motherhood is similar to owning a pet. I know this theory is a strange one, but hey, wasn't Albert Einstein's hair strange until Lance Bass made it sexy?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There will be those who mock me, but I know where I stand. I've learned so much about unconditional love from my Sam. She's such a good dog. Anytime I'm mad she's submissive. Anytime I come home she flies up the stairs and embraces me as only she can. She needs me for food, water, bathroom breaks...My Sam loves me and I know it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1739013371557733082?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1739013371557733082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1739013371557733082' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1739013371557733082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1739013371557733082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/01/hit-me-knock-me-out-and-let-me-go-back.html' title='&quot;Hit me, knock me out and let me go back to sleep&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SYNXO9vXTeI/AAAAAAAAADA/DRgJwQZJUEc/s72-c/Picture+008.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-6016026409458640441</id><published>2009-01-29T11:57:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T10:59:52.306-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"You love me because I'm fragile, but I thought that I was strong"</title><content type='html'>Two subjects to cover today so let's just dive right in!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Being Single&lt;br /&gt;I hung out with my friend Chip last night. Among other things we played a few rounds of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Tetris&lt;/span&gt; (who doesn't love that game?). In this version there's this cool female voice that lets you know how many rows you scored when the blocks disappear. Ex: "Double" "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Tetris&lt;/span&gt;" "Single"&lt;br /&gt;I noticed last night that every time I got a single the invisible lady's voice almost seemed to taunt me. "Single, Valerie. You're Single!" Yes, the sad truth of it is I am single. However I'm beginning to wonder if that's a problem. I had a situation in the month of December where I met someone and we became close, but it didn't work out. It really threw me for a little while. I felt hurt and I wondered why it didn't work. Then about a week ago my ex-husband &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;texted&lt;/span&gt; me and told me that he's getting re-married this summer. That was kind of an interesting blow. I didn't think I'd have to worry about thinking about that for a while, but there it was. And so I've been doing a lot of reflection lately on being single and whether or not I'm okay with it. A lot of people told me that I'm doing things right by taking things slow and not jumping back into a relationship right away, but what most people don't know is I'm not really doing it on purpose. If I actually got to know a guy I could see myself with I'd dive head first into a relationship. I don't know, but I think maybe I haven't really come to a conclusion on whether or not being single sucks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Embracing Mediocrity&lt;br /&gt;As some of you know I have aspirations of being a writer. My dreams never really took off because of one very important principle of writing...I can never come up with a title. Not only that, but for some reason whenever I get started writing a book I get lost. Right around the middle I seem to forget where this book was going and sprint off in another direction. It's very frustrating. However, I have managed to come up with quite an interesting idea for a story. I feel that it will be hard to stray from the path of the story because of the subject. The title is called &lt;u&gt;Embracing Mediocrity. &lt;/u&gt;It's an idea I've toyed with in the past, but I think now is the time to grab hold of my idea and give it life! Ha okay, that was kinda lame, but you know what I mean. Anyway, I'm crazy excited about this and I'll be looking for people to proof read and edit my work because obviously I'm not an expert on grammar or the like. So that is my main ambition right now, and since I'm averaging about ten hours a week at work as of late I think I might just have the time to start on it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-6016026409458640441?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6016026409458640441/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=6016026409458640441' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6016026409458640441'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6016026409458640441'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/01/you-love-me-because-im-fragile-but-i.html' title='&quot;You love me because I&apos;m fragile, but I thought that I was strong&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-7112693142138572494</id><published>2009-01-11T15:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T15:17:05.731-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I wish there was an easy way to say this."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SWp8i74wlgI/AAAAAAAAACw/gnw5nSGMDqE/s1600-h/Picture+068.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5290177651933222402" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SWp8i74wlgI/AAAAAAAAACw/gnw5nSGMDqE/s200/Picture+068.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ah man. It's been a little while. It's a new year! 2009. Time really does fly. Sometimes I can't believe I'm 21. It's hard to wrap my mind around. Things have been kinda crazy lately. Work just frustrates me to no end. Financial stuff is tight. Friendships have been tested and re-evaluated. The end of the year just seemed so rushed. It's nice to see January. A time to slow down.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Last night was interesting. I've been getting frustrated with things lately, and I had a feeling that things were getting to the breaking point. Last night was definitely that point. But it's all good in the hood. My mom told me a few days ago that it seems to her I learn things the hard way, and that I'm determined to figure things out by going through them. :) She might be right. Couple that with the fact that I'm crazy...makes for an interesting life. But as I say "Man! I'm learning a lot!" &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I still have a lot to figure out and I even realized recently that I don't have as much figured out as I thought I did. But that's what life is all about, yeah? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Most definitely.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-7112693142138572494?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/7112693142138572494/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=7112693142138572494' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7112693142138572494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7112693142138572494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-wish-there-was-easy-way-to-say-this.html' title='&quot;I wish there was an easy way to say this.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SWp8i74wlgI/AAAAAAAAACw/gnw5nSGMDqE/s72-c/Picture+068.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-6015355538608960323</id><published>2008-12-26T09:59:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-26T10:06:34.283-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I am feeling so ambitious."</title><content type='html'>:) Oh man. What a great Christmas. I love any time of the year that I get to spend with family and close friends. And to be honest with you I have the best in both respects. Granted, I would have enjoyed maybe a little more snow...considering there wasn't any...but hey, beggers can't be choosers. ;)&lt;br /&gt;As for my mind r&amp;amp;r day...it went ok. I think I need another one. It ended a little abruptly due to outside forces (getting texts from confusing people). But this next one will be more successful. I just know it. And that day is today. What better day than one that I spend alone? It's my parents anniversary. They're old :) and still together...way to go Mom and Dad!&lt;br /&gt;"I know it's not much, but it's the best I can do"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-6015355538608960323?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6015355538608960323/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=6015355538608960323' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6015355538608960323'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6015355538608960323'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/12/i-am-feeling-so-ambitious.html' title='&quot;I am feeling so ambitious.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-2279977179088266484</id><published>2008-12-23T19:17:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-23T19:28:56.729-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Even in the darkness every color can be found."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SVGp-dAPyUI/AAAAAAAAACo/nKijBJ3r6po/s1600-h/Photo-0003_e1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5283190728284948802" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SVGp-dAPyUI/AAAAAAAAACo/nKijBJ3r6po/s200/Photo-0003_e1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Here's the story of a girl, who grew up lost and lonely. Thinkin love was just a fairy tale and trouble was made only for me."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I've been so hurt in the past. Someone said to me the other day it doesn't sound like I've ever been in a functional relationship. I think they might be right. But the best part is, I have the chance to still someday do that. I've got a really good thing going for me right now that could lead to even better things. The only problem is I'm so paranoid and such a mess from everything in my past that it's very possible that I'm slowly on my way to screwing it all up. I don't know what's wrong with me. I need a day to just think. I need to turn my phone off and just figure things out. UGH. I need to slow my mind down. I over analyze things way too much. I think tomorrow I'm going to take a mind r&amp;amp;r day...yeah :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Just when you feel you've almost drowned you find yourself on solid ground. And you believe there's good in everybody's heart. Keep it safe and sound. With hope you can do your part to turn a life around. I cannot believe my eyes. Is the world finally growing wise? Because it seems to me, some kind of harmony is on the rise."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-2279977179088266484?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2279977179088266484/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=2279977179088266484' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2279977179088266484'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2279977179088266484'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/12/even-in-darkness-every-color-can-be.html' title='&quot;Even in the darkness every color can be found.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SVGp-dAPyUI/AAAAAAAAACo/nKijBJ3r6po/s72-c/Photo-0003_e1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-616843025302136999</id><published>2008-12-21T16:06:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-21T16:07:47.326-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Ouch. I have done it again. Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found."</title><content type='html'>There is someone very special in my life.&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-616843025302136999?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/616843025302136999/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=616843025302136999' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/616843025302136999'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/616843025302136999'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/12/ouch-i-have-done-it-again-lost-myself.html' title='&quot;Ouch. I have done it again. Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1870111694555634665</id><published>2008-12-20T09:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-20T09:43:50.158-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Like Cinderella I am transformed."</title><content type='html'>So I was at work last night, and the funniest thing happened. A customer wanted to buy a treadmill. This isn't the funny thing. It took me forever to find the trailer log as per usual. Again, not the funny thing. So I finally find the trailer log, and locate my treadmill I need. Wouldn't you know it there wasn't a manager to be found. One was on lunch the other was just unavailable to help me. By now about 20 minutes has gone past and my customer is waiting patiently, but he really should have his treadmill by now. So I did what I had to do to get that trailer unlocked. I go back there and run into David Goodrich. "Hey David want to help me with loading this treadmill onto this cart?"&lt;br /&gt;David: "Ah I can't Valerie, I'm dealing with an angry customer..."&lt;br /&gt;I continue asking several other associates for help who all respectfully decline.&lt;br /&gt;....&lt;br /&gt;If you're failing to see the humor in all this yet, it's because I haven't gotten to the real funny part.&lt;br /&gt;So...little Valerie...all 126 lbs. of me decides to do it herself.&lt;br /&gt;Here comes the funny...&lt;br /&gt;So I manage to get the treadmill onto the cart. During the process I throw my back out. Ouch. I haven't quite felt anything like this before. I almost felt like every step I took someone was kicking me in the stomach. My journey was not yet over.&lt;br /&gt;Far from it.&lt;br /&gt;I wheel the treadmill to the front of the store and with a proud smile on my face inform the customer that "Here's your treadmill!" He just kind of glances at me and says, "Ok, let's pay for it then."&lt;br /&gt;We approach the register; keep in mind every step I take is in excruciating pain. As a general rule at Dick's Sporting Goods associates don't let the customer push their heavy products...or load them into their cars...So I continue to push the cart out to the front of the store and wait to help load it into their truck.&lt;br /&gt;To my surprise a manager shows up just in time to help load it. Luckily I didn't have to help load it or I would be in even bigger trouble with my back. So they get it all loaded and the customer drives away. I push the empty cart back into the store and tell the front end manager that I'm pretty sure I threw my back out. The response?&lt;br /&gt;"Sucks to be you."&lt;br /&gt;Wow. Thanks. So I continue on my way and put the cart back. I decide to stumble up the escalator to go take some pain pills. I get to the offices and find the IBUTab. I take two and head back downstairs. On my way down the escalator (that conveniently broke down and had to be taken like stairs) I get a page.&lt;br /&gt;"Valerie, call 403."&lt;br /&gt;The paging person looked up and saw me hobbling down the "stairs" and heads over to tell me "customers need your help." Really? You'd think that was my job... So I go over to help some customers. One needed a 70 lb MMA bag and the other needed an inversion table. Neither of which I can lift at this point. So I look around and see David Goodrich again. Surely he isn't still dealing with a customer, that was like an hour ago. My plea for help was ignored. Turns out he was too busy. Then, like a Godsend John Popenberg sees me and says, "Are you ok, Val?"&lt;br /&gt;YOU BET I'M NOT!&lt;br /&gt;Thank the Lord for John Popenberg. He helped the customer with the inversion table as I headed back to the trailers to get the punching bag. Again I was helped by a footwear associate who could see I was in pain. He helped me tons. (Thanks Stu) So as Stuart and I roll up with the MMA bag on a dolly, the font end manager walks past.&lt;br /&gt;"Hey, I think I'm going to need to go home, my back is way messed up."&lt;br /&gt;Manager: "Hm...that's tough. Sorry about your luck."&lt;br /&gt;The punching bag customer sees this exchange and gets infuriated.&lt;br /&gt;"He basically told you that it sucks to be you, huh?" Isn't it kind of sad when a customer is disappointed by the support the management gives me? (The answer is yes.)&lt;br /&gt;To make a long story short, I got a hold of the store manager and he sent me home. I get home take a couple muscle relaxers and sit bemusedly on the couch. A couple of my friends show up to see how I'm doing. Great guys. :) So the three of us sit on the couch and they kept me company...even through my vomit session...cute.&lt;br /&gt;To end the story on a hilarious note... I called in about an hour ago to let work know I probably won't make it in because my back is still hurting and I don't want to cause further damage.&lt;br /&gt;Guess who answered the phone. Mister Front End Manager. I let him know that my back is pretty painful still and I won't make it to work at 4. His response?&lt;br /&gt;"Great. You know work is really busy today, Valerie. Thanks a lot."&lt;br /&gt;I apologize and get a "yeah." in return.&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes I wonder why I still work there. Seriously, what's the point if I get treated like I'm a bad person for being left to my own devices helping a customer and get hurt in the process?&lt;br /&gt;Are you laughing yet?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1870111694555634665?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1870111694555634665/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1870111694555634665' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1870111694555634665'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1870111694555634665'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/12/like-cinderella-i-am-transformed.html' title='&quot;Like Cinderella I am transformed.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-5058315635909756669</id><published>2008-12-17T20:03:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-17T20:11:42.211-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Look around, we're living with the lost and found."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SUnMHBanBYI/AAAAAAAAACg/l42EoM7dXn8/s1600-h/mj"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280976459079812482" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 135px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 101px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SUnMHBanBYI/AAAAAAAAACg/l42EoM7dXn8/s200/mj" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SUnMGx3ttlI/AAAAAAAAACY/MyTLrsUldGQ/s1600-h/kk"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280976454906918482" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 154px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SUnMGx3ttlI/AAAAAAAAACY/MyTLrsUldGQ/s200/kk" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SUnMG901OBI/AAAAAAAAACQ/1F1iSeooSns/s1600-h/bp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5280976458116053010" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 128px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 135px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SUnMG901OBI/AAAAAAAAACQ/1F1iSeooSns/s200/bp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Those of you who know me well know that I have a strange affinity for the WWE. In particular Monday Night Raw. :) I was watching a DVD today of an old Pay-Per-View...and i realized something. I could be the best Diva ever. These girls have nothing on me! I've already got the body...and I could pretend to fall on my face...seriously I'd be good. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I was searching for pictures of the lovely women from Monday Night Raw to put in this post...and I started to get a huge kick out of some of the things I came across...is it strange that I want to model my life after these odd, robust women? You bet it is. Would I be satisfied with my life if I gave it a shot? You bet I would :D&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;In short, if anyone wants to give my wrestling career a jump start I won't say no. Heck I'll even let you be my manager. You know, the guy that walks around behind the actual talent...riding their coattails...living off of them like a tick...a parasite...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm silly.&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/6074089348711936588-5058315635909756669?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/5058315635909756669/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=5058315635909756669' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5058315635909756669'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/5058315635909756669'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/12/look-around-were-living-with-lost-and.html' title='&quot;Look around, we&apos;re living with the lost and found.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SUnMHBanBYI/AAAAAAAAACg/l42EoM7dXn8/s72-c/mj' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1809790851910658019</id><published>2008-12-10T10:50:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-10T11:00:18.869-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Go on put your ear to the ground. You'll be hearing that sound."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SUAPy5uQHZI/AAAAAAAAACI/mEbp0C1eqrI/s1600-h/Flowers%20%20Lilacs%20Galvanized%20vase%20Spring%2003%20010.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5278236130440912274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SUAPy5uQHZI/AAAAAAAAACI/mEbp0C1eqrI/s200/Flowers%2520%2520Lilacs%2520Galvanized%2520vase%2520Spring%252003%2520010.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I miss high school a little bit. Back when life wasn't so hard. Hanging out with my friends listening to Jupiter Sunrise or whatever was popular at the time. Going to the mall to window shop and loiter. Getting kicked out of the movie theatre for not actually buying tickets. :)  Good times.&lt;br /&gt;"With every look you give me I can't speak. My racing heart has the best of me. All these feelings drowning deep inside. I wish I could say what's on my mind. How it feels like the first time. I can't seem to get you off my mind. As emotions progressed I hoped you'd find, what I had known all of this time. And yet you're slipping fast away. I never thought it would end this way. Because it feels like the first time. I can't seem to get you off my mind. You say that we have forever. As long as we stay together. As you turn with a good-bye, and look into my hopeful eyes. You say you'll love me until the end. Now my heart's been broken with no defense. Now it feels like the first time. Your memory haunts my mind. You promised me forever and said that we would be together. With every look you give me I can't speak. You really had the best of me."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;-The Defining Moment of Eleanor Rhoades&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1809790851910658019?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1809790851910658019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1809790851910658019' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1809790851910658019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1809790851910658019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/12/go-on-put-your-ear-to-ground-youll-be.html' title='&quot;Go on put your ear to the ground. You&apos;ll be hearing that sound.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SUAPy5uQHZI/AAAAAAAAACI/mEbp0C1eqrI/s72-c/Flowers%2520%2520Lilacs%2520Galvanized%2520vase%2520Spring%252003%2520010.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-3986753855181851695</id><published>2008-12-08T22:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T22:35:35.139-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"My eyes are screaming for the sight of you."</title><content type='html'>&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5277672855215819522" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/ST4Pf9_cSwI/AAAAAAAAACA/7chG9NtmX_A/s200/Picture+018.jpg" border="0" /&gt;:) I'm really happy. I've had so much lately to be happy about. My family is great. Church is great. Life in general...is just great.&lt;br /&gt;I've recently spent a lot of time with my little sister, and I have come to an interesting realization. She's the coolest! We watch movies together, we go shopping together. Sometimes she comes with me when I have to run errands. She's turning into this beautiful woman and I'm getting to experience all of it. A year ago I was living in Utah and missing it. The most we would do is talk on the phone every once in a while. She's so cool!! I love that little girl to death. (And I think she knows it too) ;) I just want to make sure that I'm the kind of big sister she can look up to for guidance. It would break my heart if I did something that influenced her negatively. Someone recently told me that they can tell that she's glad I'm home. Goll, I hope so. We played these stupid games on the Kung Fu Panda DVD for a long while last night. And I mean a good. long. while! We were trying to become Kung Fu masters. Well we finished it (after about an hour or so) and to our surprise we didn't get any kind of gratification. NOTHING! No "Congratulations! You're a Kung Fu Master" certificate, no small celebration with a silly movie clip. NOTHING! What a rip off! But man, did we have a good time. That was all the reward I needed.&lt;br /&gt;We also put up our Christmas tree last night as a family. It was a blast! We had silly Christmas music playing and we were dancing and singing! Hahahahaha. Man! I love my family. They're seriously the best. I've never been so close with them before...it's awesome. I feel so much love here. Looking back, I'm so glad I came home...Ohio is where it's at for me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-3986753855181851695?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3986753855181851695/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=3986753855181851695' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3986753855181851695'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3986753855181851695'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/12/my-eyes-are-screaming-for-sight-of-you.html' title='&quot;My eyes are screaming for the sight of you.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/ST4Pf9_cSwI/AAAAAAAAACA/7chG9NtmX_A/s72-c/Picture+018.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-1443935992664045757</id><published>2008-12-03T16:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T11:14:27.537-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Oh my starry eyed surprise."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/STchPVJhzvI/AAAAAAAAAB4/AH_aZyh7ZL0/s1600-h/hy.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5275722035746688754" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 148px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/STchPVJhzvI/AAAAAAAAAB4/AH_aZyh7ZL0/s200/hy.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It must be that time of year again...they've got the Christmas music playing at work. I saw a couple of my co-workers wearing santa hats. It's so funny because I caught myself complaining to a friend about how much I hate Christmas and the things that come with it. Then I realized...isn't Christmas all about Jesus' birth? Yeah. It is. (In case you were wondering) ;) It makes me sad that Christmas has become so commercialized that when I think about it I forget what it's really about.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm going to end this blog with a quote from the very funny Dave Barry:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Well, the holiday gift-giving season is upon us once again, like an outbreak of shingles. Already I have received dozens of colorful mail-order gift catalogs urging me to buy bizarre objects and give them to people. I recently got a catalog featuring enormous cans of popcorn smeared with caramel, each containing enough carbohydrates to meet the needs of a medium-sized industrial city for a year. This is an example of a holiday gift, which is an object whose primary purpose is to be given, not actually be used. It expresses the ultimate holiday gift-giving message, which is, 'Look! I got you a gift!'"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-1443935992664045757?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/1443935992664045757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=1443935992664045757' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1443935992664045757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/1443935992664045757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/12/oh-my-starry-eyed-surprise.html' title='&quot;Oh my starry eyed surprise.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/STchPVJhzvI/AAAAAAAAAB4/AH_aZyh7ZL0/s72-c/hy.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-4674081749577315589</id><published>2008-12-01T09:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T10:05:45.029-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/STQmrJ55V7I/AAAAAAAAABw/OomJ6siNNBo/s1600-h/Picture+094.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5274883586392676274" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/STQmrJ55V7I/AAAAAAAAABw/OomJ6siNNBo/s200/Picture+094.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So I've decided I have mixed emotions about this whole "Thanksgiving" thing. ;)&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong. I love the food and the family atmosphere...&lt;br /&gt;but gosh dang that Black Friday!&lt;br /&gt;Holy Cow!&lt;br /&gt;It was such a rough day. The thing is though, it was rough emotionally. All this emphasis was put on sales and warranties. They didn't care how you did it as long as you got your sale! It really makes you think twice about Thanksgiving because you know what's waiting around the corner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once the day is done and all the leftovers have been put away; once Dad is in a pumpkin pie induced coma in his favorite chair and Mom is loading up the dishwasher for the fifth time...it all sets in. You sit down and realize that in t-minus 6 hours you're going to be getting up to go to work at 3:30 in the morning. (Granted, I didn't work the opening shift, but I did have friends who did.) For the rest of us who get to sleep in until 10:00 a.m. the alarm is met with a certain amount of reproach. It's silenced as we pry ourselves from our warm covers. We march to the shower grudgingly...and even more angrily eat a mass of left-over mashed potatoes for breakfast. As you pull up to your place of employment you realize you're going to have to park all the way out by Factory Card Outlet and walk to the building in the dismal freezing rain. This is not a good omen. You open the door.&lt;br /&gt;Lines to the escalators.&lt;br /&gt;Product all over the floor.&lt;br /&gt;Customers swearing at their misbehaving children, or even better, ignoring them.&lt;br /&gt;Harried managers running around with torn receipts in their hands.&lt;br /&gt;Footwear associates with a basketball in one hand and a fishing pole in the other.&lt;br /&gt;A pile of treadmills, ping pong tables, and recumbent bikes all in line to be loaded into the eagerly waiting customers' mini-van. (Eager to escape this mass chaos.)&lt;br /&gt;All the while a "merry" mix of classic Christmas carols jingling over head.&lt;br /&gt;What a magical day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes as I was standing at the front door of our store waiting to enter the building a familiar movie clip came to mind...&lt;br /&gt;You know the one, where Forrest &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Gump&lt;/span&gt; gets shot in "the buttocks."&lt;br /&gt;Was I going into Dick's Sporting Goods or 'Nam?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-4674081749577315589?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4674081749577315589/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=4674081749577315589' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4674081749577315589'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4674081749577315589'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/12/and-that-laugh-that-wrinkles-your-nose.html' title='&quot;And that laugh that wrinkles your nose, it touches my foolish heart.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/STQmrJ55V7I/AAAAAAAAABw/OomJ6siNNBo/s72-c/Picture+094.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-4435201147284326242</id><published>2008-11-27T14:27:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-27T14:38:02.908-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"This beauty is now clear to me."</title><content type='html'>&lt;u&gt;Things I am thankful for (in no specific order):&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;family: mom, dad, holly, gramma, andrea, kaden, quinn, ava, kurt...etc&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;the gospel&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my dog :) Sam&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;fooood! (turkey!)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;a house&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my job&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my car&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;heat in my house, job and car&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;music&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;naps&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;friends! &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;life&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;trials&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;clothes&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;shoes :) :)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;the smells of thanksgiving&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;leaves that are extra crunchy&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Lifetime movies that play Thanksgiving day&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;freedom of religion&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my scriptures&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;support&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;rain&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;sun&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;band-aids&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;tv&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my bed&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my room&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;my health&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;two eyebrows (uni's are yucky!)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;hope&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;love&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;slumber parties with old friends&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;There's SO SO much more, but I probably won't be able to stay awake for it all...I'm slowly drifting into a turkey-induced coma. :)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Happy Thanksgiving, all. I hope it was a good one.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-4435201147284326242?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4435201147284326242/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=4435201147284326242' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4435201147284326242'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4435201147284326242'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/this-beauty-is-now-clear-to-me.html' title='&quot;This beauty is now clear to me.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-3287688765028702583</id><published>2008-11-26T12:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T12:58:34.153-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"There's nothing to cry about because we'll hold each other soon."</title><content type='html'>I think there's some law of averages or something that says eventually Valerie will be allowed to be happy. When is that? I try so stinkin hard...and i'm just so frustrated and tired of being upbeat and positive. And when my friends get significant others or a really excellent job I'm there to support them. I'm sorry friends if lately it seems like I'm not super excited for you. And i'm sorry for this blog. Basically I'm complaining until my fingers are numb. I wish I could see the timeline of my life and just jump to the day that I get to be happy again.&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry you had to read this, but I don't complain about much these days (besides work).&lt;br /&gt;I just needed to vent for a few seconds.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-3287688765028702583?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3287688765028702583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=3287688765028702583' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3287688765028702583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3287688765028702583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/theres-nothing-to-cry-about-because.html' title='&quot;There&apos;s nothing to cry about because we&apos;ll hold each other soon.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-6935112198150073091</id><published>2008-11-24T09:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T09:39:42.902-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"When you lose something you can't replace, when you love someone but it goes to waste."</title><content type='html'>Today is November 24th and it's raining outside. How fitting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSrixl1q8PI/AAAAAAAAABo/XJ-iZTG6Bag/s1600-h/Picture+023.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5272275655389278450" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSrixl1q8PI/AAAAAAAAABo/XJ-iZTG6Bag/s200/Picture+023.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Today is a day of reflection. The Columbus Crew won the MLS cup yesterday. A few weeks ago President-elect Obama was chosen to lead our country. Last month I dressed up as Luigi and went to a costume party. A few months before that I was called to be a CTR6 teacher. Even further back still I bought a dog named Sammich. I got my job at Dick's Sporting Goods in March. February 14th I received a very special gift for Valentine's Day that failed to do what it was intended for. December 31st I celebrated New Year's with someone I couldn't bear to be away from. And one year ago today... well yeah, one year ago today was one year ago today.&lt;br /&gt;Looking back, what have I learned?&lt;br /&gt;How is my quality of life?&lt;br /&gt;Was it worth it?&lt;br /&gt;Would I have been happier making some of these decisions differently?&lt;br /&gt;Why am I at where I'm at?&lt;br /&gt;Why do I feel this way?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is November 24th and it's raining inside. How fitting.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-6935112198150073091?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/6935112198150073091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=6935112198150073091' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6935112198150073091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/6935112198150073091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/when-you-lose-something-you-cant.html' title='&quot;When you lose something you can&apos;t replace, when you love someone but it goes to waste.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSrixl1q8PI/AAAAAAAAABo/XJ-iZTG6Bag/s72-c/Picture+023.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-4255627851413411091</id><published>2008-11-21T20:21:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-22T20:48:59.545-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Cause it's frightening to be swimming in this strange sea, but I'd rather be here than on land."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSjefmmXZRI/AAAAAAAAABY/9m2s-cnjoYI/s1600-h/me.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5271707998355940626" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSjefmmXZRI/AAAAAAAAABY/9m2s-cnjoYI/s200/me.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This blog, like many others I've written, starts out with a conversation I had with a friend.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;I was discussing with a co-worker first impressions. We were mainly talking about some new girls that were hired on recently. Though, at one point in the conversation I asked him what his first impressions of me when I started were.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;He said this and that about physical appearance and other non-substantial things. The thing that really stuck with me had a little more weight. It was much more eloquent than I have the energy to be, but basically he said that I have a big heart. :)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;That was very sweet.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The thing that I noticed was after he told me that I went out of my way to try to help people. I started going above and beyond my "norm." So I tried an interesting experiment today. It's simple, and it's probably something we should do anyway. I complimented people. Nothing huge. Just an "I appreciate this" or "you did really good on that." I was pleased to see the same outcome that I had seen in my own self. It makes me wonder...&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Are we all just wandering through our lives looking for vindication? Do we "perform better" when we think other people are watching/appreciating us? &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;When you were a child did you ever get praised for doing something well/right? Afterward how did you feel? Did you smile and try hard to impress that person again? On the flip side; when we don't notice someone's efforts how do they feel? Do they hurt when they work extra hard and get no recognition?.... Definitely something to keep in mind, yeah?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-4255627851413411091?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/4255627851413411091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=4255627851413411091' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4255627851413411091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/4255627851413411091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/ive-got-nothing.html' title='&quot;Cause it&apos;s frightening to be swimming in this strange sea, but I&apos;d rather be here than on land.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSjefmmXZRI/AAAAAAAAABY/9m2s-cnjoYI/s72-c/me.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-8335492960949393546</id><published>2008-11-20T09:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T11:01:31.385-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"So maybe I've got a lot to learn."</title><content type='html'>I have a very interesting topic today. It can't really be summed up in one word or phrase so I'm just going to dive right in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend and I have encountered a problem. There are these two guys we've known for a good number of years. As long as we've known them we've pretty much despised them. We met them in high school and rue the day our paths crossed. As Elizabeth Bennett would say they are, "most intolerable."&lt;br /&gt;Let me paint a picture for you:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;u&gt;Guy #1&lt;/u&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;womanizer&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;publicly embarrassed people&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;prideful&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;was known to start fist fights over petty issues&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;jumped to conclusions about people based on first impressions and appearance&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;u&gt;Guy #2&lt;/u&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;womanizer&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;spoke poorly about people behind their backs&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;used girls to get to other girls&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;hated people without reason/explanation&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;unfriendly&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;p&gt;Both of these guys at one point in time very personally offended my friend and me in one way or another. I avoid detail to keep embarrassment at bay. However, the point is they both went away for a couple of years. While they were gone we all grew up (as people do with the passing of time). We were recently forced to see these people again. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;This is where the story gets interesting... They're NICE people! They have completely and totally changed from the guys we knew in high school. They're humble, sweet, caring... WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE!? They've both gone out of their way to be nice to my friend and me. They've done things completely out of character for them and totally rocked the foundation of our worlds! We find ourselves wondering if this is allowed or even fair. It caught us completely off guard. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;The questions it brings up are: Why aren't we happy? Shouldn't we embrace the new, nicer versions of these boys? &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;But instead we're scared. It's making us uncomfortable and nervous. We're just waiting for these boys to turn on us; lull us into a false sense of security and WHAM!...pain. I mean, let's hope that doesn't happen... but haven't they abused our trust in the past? Why should we trust them now? Should we give them the benefit of the doubt? We've both grown up, why wouldn't it make sense for them to have as well?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Aren't people strange? Then again, are we the strange ones for being so confused? :)&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-8335492960949393546?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8335492960949393546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=8335492960949393546' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8335492960949393546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8335492960949393546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/so-maybe-ive-got-lot-to-learn.html' title='&quot;So maybe I&apos;ve got a lot to learn.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-218473689960222055</id><published>2008-11-19T14:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T10:33:25.548-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"Straighten up your tie and take the microphone"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSSX6bgI0sI/AAAAAAAAABQ/9I7_bKXFzt0/s1600-h/Monday,+July+17,+2006+(7).jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270504494001083074" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 134px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSSX6bgI0sI/AAAAAAAAABQ/9I7_bKXFzt0/s200/Monday,+July+17,+2006+(7).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;What if I was told I only had a year to live? What would I do? Who would I spend my time with?&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I don't think I'm the only one that thinks about these things, but lately the importance of not taking life for granted has really been brought back to me.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Live in the moment. Let people know how you feel. Hold on tight to precious moments. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I think that's one reason why the gospel is so important in my life. It gives me purpose and explains what this life is about. It comforts me to know what's in store for after this life. Gives me hope and endless joy in my life.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;A really important lesson I learned this past week is: Look for inspiration in those that are closest to us... even if we don't really know them. Along with that, maybe our problems aren't so bad. Are they going to matter tomorrow? A week from now? Why stress over little things when in the grand scheme of things they just don't matter? Isn't the point of life happiness and enjoying our time here? Shouldn't we spend our time trying to make other peoples' lives wonderful? I think so.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"Imagine there's no heaven It's easy if you try No hell below us Above us only sky Imagine all the people Living for today... Imagine there's no countries It isn't hard to do Nothing to kill or die for And no religion too Imagine all the people Living life in peace...You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will be as one Imagine no possessions I wonder if you can No need for greed or hunger A brotherhood of man Imagine all the people Sharing all the world... You may say I'm a dreamer But I'm not the only one I hope someday you'll join us And the world will live as one." -John Lennon&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;"I backed my car into a cop car the other day Well he just drove off sometimes life's ok I ran my mouth off a bit too much oh what can i say Well you just laughed it off it was all ok And we'll all float on ok And we'll all float on any way well Well, a fake Jamaican took every last dime with a scam It was worth it just to learn from sleight-of-hand &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Bad news comes don't you worry even when it lands Good news will work its way to all them plans&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; We both got fired on the exactly the same day Well we'll float on good news is on the way And we'll all float on ok Already we'll all float on Now don't worry we'll all float on Alright already we'll all float on &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Alright don't worry we'll all float on&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Alright don't worry even if things end up a bit to heavy we'll all float on alright&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; Ok don't worry we'll all float on Even if things get heavy we'll all float on &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;Don't you worry we'll all float on&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;" -Ben Lee&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-218473689960222055?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/218473689960222055/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=218473689960222055' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/218473689960222055'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/218473689960222055'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/straighten-up-your-tie-and-take.html' title='&quot;Straighten up your tie and take the microphone&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSSX6bgI0sI/AAAAAAAAABQ/9I7_bKXFzt0/s72-c/Monday,+July+17,+2006+(7).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-8865661295850823366</id><published>2008-11-18T18:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T18:29:37.401-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I'm here and I'm ready and I saved you the passenger seat."</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSN6Am1QkhI/AAAAAAAAABI/itE1XF50BSM/s1600-h/Picture+013a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270190139796132370" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSN6Am1QkhI/AAAAAAAAABI/itE1XF50BSM/s200/Picture+013a.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;"We don't accept more, we don't expect less.&lt;br /&gt;We appear to give it all when we're just trying to express.&lt;br /&gt;That, 'we accept the love we think we deserve.'&lt;br /&gt;We are one, we are none, we is him, we is her...&lt;br /&gt;It's a thought, an idea of a person's personality,&lt;br /&gt;a mask of their individuality.&lt;br /&gt;Mistakes are made and scars form fast, but it's hard to see...&lt;br /&gt;what lies beneath when you're looking through the glass.&lt;br /&gt;What you've yet to realize is you're looking at a mirror.&lt;br /&gt;They see in you what you see in them,&lt;br /&gt;and to them it's just as clear.&lt;br /&gt;You all shall share this common fear,&lt;br /&gt;that no one comes close... no one comes near...&lt;br /&gt;to what you've been to yourself these past 20 years."&lt;br /&gt;-Nick Woodburn&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You're in my dreams. You tuck me in.&lt;br /&gt;Every moment we've had has been inexplicably perfect.&lt;br /&gt;You make me smile, and laugh, and weep with joy.&lt;br /&gt;But what if that's not enough?&lt;br /&gt;I'm running out of excuses for where you are.&lt;br /&gt;It's like an unquenchable thirst when I'm not talking to you.&lt;br /&gt;You're in my thoughts constantly and everyone knows how I feel.&lt;br /&gt;You're the most beautiful person alive.&lt;br /&gt;No one person has ever made me feel like you do!&lt;br /&gt;(and no one ever will)&lt;br /&gt;Anything is possible when I'm talking to you.&lt;br /&gt;But it's not enough!&lt;br /&gt;I want to touch you, I want to hold your face in my hands.&lt;br /&gt;I want to kiss you. To feel your hand in mine.&lt;br /&gt;I would give anything.&lt;br /&gt;I want to see your eyes narrow in disbelief...&lt;br /&gt;and your nose crinkle in disgust.&lt;br /&gt;I want to experience every moment with you.&lt;br /&gt;I want to feel your arm around my waist, your breath on my cheek, your lips against mine.&lt;br /&gt;I want to run my hands through your hair and laugh with you.&lt;br /&gt;I want to embarrass myself while trying to impress you!&lt;br /&gt;(and then have you hold me as my shame subsides)&lt;br /&gt;I want to spend quiet moments alone with you just listening...&lt;br /&gt;and I want to scream with delight when I open the door and see you standing there!&lt;br /&gt;I want to wrap your arms around me and to whisper in your ear.&lt;br /&gt;Where are you?&lt;br /&gt;Why haven't I found you?&lt;br /&gt;Are you looking for me?&lt;br /&gt;I want you near me. Beside me. This love is too huge to keep separated.&lt;br /&gt;You're in my dreams, and you whisper, "Goodnight."'&lt;br /&gt;-Anonymous&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-8865661295850823366?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/8865661295850823366/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=8865661295850823366' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8865661295850823366'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/8865661295850823366'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/im-here-and-im-ready-and-i-saved-you.html' title='&quot;I&apos;m here and I&apos;m ready and I saved you the passenger seat.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SSN6Am1QkhI/AAAAAAAAABI/itE1XF50BSM/s72-c/Picture+013a.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-3465251162100148570</id><published>2008-11-16T19:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-16T19:49:15.899-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"does anyone knock when they barge in to beat her down?"</title><content type='html'>I'm on a retreat.&lt;br /&gt;A getaway.&lt;br /&gt;A hiatus.&lt;br /&gt;:)&lt;br /&gt;It's lovely.&lt;br /&gt;Just chilling out here in the woods... it's really beautiful out here. It makes me feel SO relaxed!! :D As soon as I got here I pigged out on beef, potatoes and carrots. OH man! As soon as I opened the door I could smell it cooking, and it tasted even better than it smelled. :) Then we all sat around and watched movies on the projector. Strictly comedies ;) Then we ate some more food...kinda like shepherd's pie...not sure what it was...but still good! There's nothing like eating comfort food and throwing logs into a potbelly stove to keep you warm. We watched the snow fall, and I got to meet a new puppy! Played with her a ton. Watched some more movies. Tomorrow morning we're going to go get breakfast and go for a morning hike and then I go to get my cast off.&lt;br /&gt;It's the little things in life that mean the most to us...&lt;br /&gt;This mini-vacation is EXACTLY what I needed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-3465251162100148570?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3465251162100148570/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=3465251162100148570' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3465251162100148570'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3465251162100148570'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/does-anyone-knock-when-they-barge-in-to.html' title='&quot;does anyone knock when they barge in to beat her down?&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-7059078655544908093</id><published>2008-11-14T14:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T20:39:45.074-07:00</updated><title type='text'>"I'm dressed all in blue and I'm remembering you."</title><content type='html'>I had this discussion with a friend of mine the other night. How long do you put up with someone disrespecting you before you take a stand and say it's not okay?&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SR36jM6ceqI/AAAAAAAAABA/iDjUDKRodU0/s1600-h/Saturday,+May+10,+2008+(2).jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268642621762075298" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 140px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SR36jM6ceqI/AAAAAAAAABA/iDjUDKRodU0/s200/Saturday,+May+10,+2008+(2).jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; My friend's response was: I think it depends on how much you love someone and what they mean to you. I've run into a sticky situation at work. I have a department manager who...shall i say is not qualified. I won't go into detail or use names, but I've come to the point where it's about time to draw the line. I understand that I may take a few shots for this (i.e. hours cut, department transfer) but when is enough, enough? It hurts to hear co-workers tell me what's going on. I need to take responsibility for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I once saw a sign in front of a church that said: "We were not called to be lawers, judges or jury, but instead to be witnesses." I love that quote. It really stuck with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It makes me wonder where the balance is. When do i draw the line? When do I blow the whistle on what's happening? Who am I to decide something needs to be done?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But today I decided that enough is enough. Not only is this affecting me, but it's hurting people I value as great workers and friends. The time has come for someone to take a stand, and if it needs to be me...so be it. :) Heck maybe it'll all turn out just great and I'll get a promotion!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-7059078655544908093?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/7059078655544908093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=7059078655544908093' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7059078655544908093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/7059078655544908093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/theres-me-lookin-down-at-my-shoes.html' title='&quot;I&apos;m dressed all in blue and I&apos;m remembering you.&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SR36jM6ceqI/AAAAAAAAABA/iDjUDKRodU0/s72-c/Saturday,+May+10,+2008+(2).jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-9167539404658012269</id><published>2008-11-13T20:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T21:14:21.899-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SR0E3JeZo2I/AAAAAAAAAAw/NjKUdyahqZc/s1600-h/Picture+033.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268372484576093026" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; WIDTH: 141px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SR0E3JeZo2I/AAAAAAAAAAw/NjKUdyahqZc/s320/Picture+033.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The beauty of friends...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;No let me be more specific.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The beauty of &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;really REALLY good friends is they smile when you experience joy, and they cry when you go through sorrow. They offer a shoulder to cry on, or a hand to high-five. They hug, they smile, they cry, and they listen whenever you need it. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I've had the opportunity of having some pretty spectacular friends over the years. Especially now, in this crucial time in my life when I'm going through all these changes and experiencing new things. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I've got my boys. :) Those who know me best know how important my boys are to me. It's a very close friendship with these boys that makes me believe one day I'll find that special someone that won't take me for granted. I know those kind of people are out there.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I have my friends in Utah. I don't see much of them these days, but they are still dear to my heart. Whenever I see their name on my caller id or inbox a huge smile spreads across my face. Those are the kind of friends you travel across the country a couple times a year to visit.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Then there's my ladies. I don't have very many female friends. I just tend to get along better with boys, but there are a select few VERY important girl-friends in my life. Girls that would travel across the country with/for me. Girls that have seen me through some of my darkest times. Girls who have seen me embarrass the crap out of myself! Girls who love me unconditionally like family.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Friends are so important. Let us not take our friends for granted.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-9167539404658012269?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/9167539404658012269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=9167539404658012269' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/9167539404658012269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/9167539404658012269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/i-wanted-you-to-know-i-love-way-you.html' title='&quot;I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SR0E3JeZo2I/AAAAAAAAAAw/NjKUdyahqZc/s72-c/Picture+033.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-479421072097202438</id><published>2008-11-13T19:51:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T21:07:22.306-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"we're living in a den of theives; it's contagious"</title><content type='html'>I'd like to give a shout out to my boys in yellow: William Hesmer, Robbie Rogers and the rest of the Columbus Crew!&lt;br /&gt;CONGRATULATIONS COLUMBUS CREW!!! YOU'VE EARNED IT!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-479421072097202438?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/479421072097202438/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=479421072097202438' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/479421072097202438'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/479421072097202438'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/were-living-in-den-of-theives-its.html' title='&quot;we&apos;re living in a den of theives; it&apos;s contagious&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-3162218413015911178</id><published>2008-11-12T18:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T18:22:28.034-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I started smiling because you were smiling"</title><content type='html'>What does it mean to be a good friend?&lt;br /&gt;I had an interesting discussion with a very close friend last night. He's no longer on speaking terms with a mutual friend of ours. His reasoning was because she would not do him a simple favor. I asked what the favor was and he proceeded to tell me, ending with saying that he only wants friends he could count on.&lt;br /&gt;Let me first say that the favor he was asking was indeed small, but seemed a little immaterial. I wasn't positive about why he would end such a great friendship with someone over something so silly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I brought up the fact that he had forgot to wish me a happy birthday this last week. It was an important birthday being my 21st and all. I expected birthday wishes from him considering the closeness of our friendship. When he actually got around to remembering my birthday he just sort of dismissed it. It really hurt me a lot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my question for him was: Should I forgive you?&lt;br /&gt;"It's up to you," says he with a small apology for forgetting my birthday.&lt;br /&gt;But the real topic of the evening was: Maybe in order to have great friends, you should be one first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a real hard time feeling sorry for him. He asked me to in turn do this "favor" for him. I obliged, but only because it meant a lot to him. Afterward I really contemplated some of my other friendships.&lt;br /&gt;How often do we find ourselves in friendships with people where we feel like we care more for the individual than they care about us?&lt;br /&gt;How often are other people in a situation where they feel they care more about me than I do them?&lt;br /&gt;Do I show my friends the love they deserve? When something is important to them, do I come through?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It all boils down to this: Treat others the way you would like to be treated. I think the world could be a pretty bodacious place if people did that more often.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-3162218413015911178?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/3162218413015911178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=3162218413015911178' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3162218413015911178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/3162218413015911178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/i-started-smiling-because-you-were.html' title='&quot;I started smiling because you were smiling&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6074089348711936588.post-2205997312617023475</id><published>2008-11-12T17:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T21:11:38.319-08:00</updated><title type='text'>"I ain't freakin, I ain't fakin this"</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SR0Ig_F5b2I/AAAAAAAAAA4/DKwmJyCZJLE/s1600-h/uh.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268376501878353762" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 133px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SR0Ig_F5b2I/AAAAAAAAAA4/DKwmJyCZJLE/s200/uh.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Inspiration comes in all shapes, sizes, smells, and styles. It might come in a dream or from a song. It could come from watching the news, or from the lid of your apple juice bottle. Today, for me, inspriation comes from a dear friend. It's thanks to this friend that I set up this blog. Thank you, Paul McHardy.&lt;br /&gt;But enough about him, I'm here to blog ;)&lt;br /&gt;I finished reading an auto-biography about a wrestler today. It was a decent read. To be honest I wasn't expecting any great work of prose or profound statements on the meaning of life, but I was surprised at some of the things I learned. I'm not going to go into detail about those things because that's not what I want to write about today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Upon reading this book I came to an interesting realization. The author was a high school drop-out. His grammar was often times incorrect, and I imagine if the book hadn't gone through an editor there would have been many a spelling error. Yet here was this book in my hands for the world to read. Why? Because it was about someone famous. Someone important in the "Sports Entertainment Industry." The world wants to know about this person.&lt;br /&gt;Who wants to know about me?&lt;br /&gt;If I were to write an auto-biography who would pick it up?&lt;br /&gt;I like to think that I've lived a pretty interesting life. I have been through some experiences that I think people would like to hear about. Would my life be interesting enough to merit publication? I say if Dave Batista can write about himself for all to read then so can Valerie Mizer.&lt;br /&gt;So with these thoughts I got online. I read my friend Paul's blog...about sports, about getting old, about voting. In his own way, Paul was writing a biography of his life. The even more stunning thing; people read it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To make a long story short, this is my life as it is. I'm going to write. I don't care who reads, but here it is. I hope you enjoy :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6074089348711936588-2205997312617023475?l=valeriemusings.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/feeds/2205997312617023475/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6074089348711936588&amp;postID=2205997312617023475' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2205997312617023475'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6074089348711936588/posts/default/2205997312617023475'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://valeriemusings.blogspot.com/2008/11/i-aint-freakin-i-aint-fakin-this.html' title='&quot;I ain&apos;t freakin, I ain&apos;t fakin this&quot;'/><author><name>Valerie.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07549401956642954264</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='24' height='32' src='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/Sb8XBKE9wLI/AAAAAAAAAEA/KXFEOqZ5fBQ/S220/Photo-0003_e1.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_AUgNAcl4kdA/SR0Ig_F5b2I/AAAAAAAAAA4/DKwmJyCZJLE/s72-c/uh.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
