tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-81405892024-03-14T13:13:00.011-05:00SidenoteCalCalhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.comBlogger626125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-41131361824097837932013-06-16T14:42:00.001-05:002013-06-16T14:42:30.335-05:00A gem.My dad is the kind of guy who mows my lawn for me on Father's Day. What a gem! <div><br><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJYoXZpWC8Tf5cttrsawIZvxxUo7r3x7j_YgGxDP4OpYosI8pXNil10HlKmkumAQP4xL4fNSqJ7h5VIZhN80_FWIrZWNUhVTPRkzWTb4a7CijSX63zrECkt1KG0sc8XQarDG7og/s640/blogger-image-2011193194.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIJYoXZpWC8Tf5cttrsawIZvxxUo7r3x7j_YgGxDP4OpYosI8pXNil10HlKmkumAQP4xL4fNSqJ7h5VIZhN80_FWIrZWNUhVTPRkzWTb4a7CijSX63zrECkt1KG0sc8XQarDG7og/s640/blogger-image-2011193194.jpg"></a></div><br></div></div>Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-64529416375744660652013-06-03T15:55:00.000-05:002013-06-03T15:55:00.568-05:00Discount Wisdom<div style="text-align: left;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmxpzim9BRCV_G9zP5-LJGBSoAYL6SzxSne5GeI9PtotcPhU7XwK2pAC5FhmxIKPKeKDaQSh_rZUSKYPy7TYWE6uhEA59X_qeQgCkULuxLGeQN5yyZHb_7FS8e7Jx4FOryROldQ/s640/blogger-image-116593388.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzmxpzim9BRCV_G9zP5-LJGBSoAYL6SzxSne5GeI9PtotcPhU7XwK2pAC5FhmxIKPKeKDaQSh_rZUSKYPy7TYWE6uhEA59X_qeQgCkULuxLGeQN5yyZHb_7FS8e7Jx4FOryROldQ/s320/blogger-image-116593388.jpg" title="" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>St. Paul Farmer's Market</i></td></tr>
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"I'm going to give you a discount because I like your cowboy boots. </div>
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Actually, it's cowboys that I really like, if you know what I mean. </div>
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Mmmmhmm, I tell ya--there's nothing better than a man with a rifle."</div>
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-80107540900975840832013-06-01T17:42:00.002-05:002013-06-01T17:42:38.988-05:00The beginning. {Again.}<span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: separate; border-spacing: 0px; font-family: Helvetica;"></span><br />
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It has been months and months since the last time I posted, but I never stopped taking notes. This blog has been with me for almost ten years and has changed countless times over that decade.<br />
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I'm not sure why I stopped posting last fall--burned out? Too busy? Don't know.</div>
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I really didn't stop taking notes, though--</div>
<div>
in an app on my phone, </div>
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scraps of paper at my desk, </div>
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toward the back of my mind as I fall asleep <i>(those never survive the night)</i>.</div>
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But none of them ever seemed polished enough to blog.</div>
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Today I remembered that I've always called this my place to capture "life's post-it notes" and I don't think I've ever seen a polished post-it note. It's just a little square to jog your mind later or to catch a thought before another one pushes it aside.</div>
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So, without worrying about polish, I'm going to start blogging again. Sometimes it might be a few words, others maybe just a silly picture, and maybe once in a while long, boring, stream-of-consciousness writing. </div>
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Stick with me if you can, read if you'd like, and we'll see what happens.</div>
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-13723695796088758152012-11-28T19:34:00.001-06:002012-11-28T19:34:21.404-06:00Grenade<div class="mobile-photo">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUHotIVRotLMgIqDEPHxo1QnxMbbg7t6TBpN3qfCI3LVRI_2EwIm_zi-m0UfH_qmL34C_6Of6JPtQ71KUU4r2B_eNdPO690AC8atPAtoUo7hkYFJrbKDUnzPpw1wCHg4yA3Mu/s1600/photo-707714.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="297" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5815742667684877890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNUHotIVRotLMgIqDEPHxo1QnxMbbg7t6TBpN3qfCI3LVRI_2EwIm_zi-m0UfH_qmL34C_6Of6JPtQ71KUU4r2B_eNdPO690AC8atPAtoUo7hkYFJrbKDUnzPpw1wCHg4yA3Mu/s400/photo-707714.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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Translations:</div>
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English = Pomegranate</div>
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Spanish = Granada</div>
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French = Grenade</div>
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After my attempt to eat a pomegranate exploded all over everything, I have to say that I think the French got it right on this one.</div>
Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-8717424381510374312012-11-27T09:59:00.002-06:002012-11-27T09:59:31.690-06:00Post-holiday bluesThanksgiving is over. My sister and her family have flown back to California, work has started again, and temperatures are permanently under 32 degrees from now until April.<br />
<br />
I have a case of the post-holiday blues!<br />
<br />
Solutions? <br />
<ol>
<li>Decorating my house for Christmas while drinking {spiked} hot cider</li>
<li>Booking a January trip out to visit sister&co while dreaming of wearing flip-flops instead of boots</li>
<li>Dusting off my expansive scarf collection for proper winter bundling</li>
</ol>
{Ok so that last one actually exacerbated the problem but I couldn't think of a third solution and my 9th grade English teacher taught us that a list isn't a list unless it has more than two items in it so there you go.}<br />
<br />Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-14157025825233995782012-11-08T09:00:00.000-06:002012-11-08T09:00:05.571-06:00De Facto Boss<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOfSK61Lf7vBL4bZVzcJ7RrfaRSMwFtloGoXPzdZ_5AIpJgYtd46Sif2HuT0xVFG3KM5YpCjiLn8X-7fsPwcAAvvJi_q0Zs8dpNyklXcdBUX2pTp7WHUkBKTO4UFTNVaDfPXD/s1600/photo-716676.JPG" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5807740750297743890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQOfSK61Lf7vBL4bZVzcJ7RrfaRSMwFtloGoXPzdZ_5AIpJgYtd46Sif2HuT0xVFG3KM5YpCjiLn8X-7fsPwcAAvvJi_q0Zs8dpNyklXcdBUX2pTp7WHUkBKTO4UFTNVaDfPXD/s320/photo-716676.JPG" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ebs loves holding staff meetings. <br />{This photo was NOT staged. She just loves mirrors.}</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<b>Me:</b> I'm in charge at the office!<br />
<b>Dad:</b> Because no one else is in today?<br />
<b>Me:</b> Haha, yup!<br />
<b>Dad:</b> Put a mirror on your desk and hold a staff meeting.<br />
<b>Me:</b> Oh. My. Gosh. I. Just. Laughed. Out. Loud.<br />
<b>Dad:</b> Gotta run...let me know if there's any controversy at that meeting. xoxo<div class="mobile-photo">
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-54857829359272597292012-11-07T09:00:00.000-06:002012-11-07T09:00:10.156-06:00Spickle da me<br />
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Dean looooves the movie Spickle da me...</div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='400' height='326' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzKNj4ubD04WJHHI4XGcGLFm8Je3s8w8nGxRJ_JmHFW5y9XHc2TQ1AcgKZNa-S7w7xjtucGiXd3Y6s' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
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...and I have to say, I'm pretty excited myself about the sequel coming out next summer. The preview alone had me cracking up! {Note: if you don't have an absolutely adorable nephew to watch it with like I do, you can go with us. Auntie's treat!}</div>
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-25437861972805107312012-11-06T10:31:00.000-06:002012-11-06T10:31:10.450-06:00Cast your vote<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvkqwji9ezE4saMvJGopLB9_QnyjCG_h0FWsF4lF4J4Y_ZlhplFFAdyrd4VsC2Uz7AbsqMu7nutgICmFle6hR9AJUZhANwpe7WpNZK_4b8Ch4Ke_vXIaqAAdWwC4x6EQj1Hmk/s1600/photo+2-736890.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="200" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5807736544670478546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCvkqwji9ezE4saMvJGopLB9_QnyjCG_h0FWsF4lF4J4Y_ZlhplFFAdyrd4VsC2Uz7AbsqMu7nutgICmFle6hR9AJUZhANwpe7WpNZK_4b8Ch4Ke_vXIaqAAdWwC4x6EQj1Hmk/s200/photo+2-736890.JPG" width="200" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEj1tZpDTBq0_mC_ZRLXRpQWNx7XgByYD0gEuHOdI8SPGoP09MGLrQ4phyxxzzZIYmPZeQHV271cQ_4TI5lRibxCrgb29Z2hMWGZQ29ieQtwMd4URqmyXcjFRztcPKJrSb9IX/s1600/photo+1-732997.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="200" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5807736531796853394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaEj1tZpDTBq0_mC_ZRLXRpQWNx7XgByYD0gEuHOdI8SPGoP09MGLrQ4phyxxzzZIYmPZeQHV271cQ_4TI5lRibxCrgb29Z2hMWGZQ29ieQtwMd4URqmyXcjFRztcPKJrSb9IX/s200/photo+1-732997.JPG" width="150" /></a><span class="userContent">One if my immigrant English language students
told me once that people in her country vote for whichever candidate
bribes the starving citizens with the most chickens or whichever party
doesn't have guns to their backs at the polls.</span></div>
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<span class="userContent"><br /> This morning I got to vote, under no duress, in the basement of the Catholic church where I attend Mass.</span></div>
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<span class="userContent">God bless the USA. </span></div>
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<span class="userContent">Happy Election Day to my fellow U.S. citizens and to all those reading from other countries, I hope you enjoy the show as the results stream in tonight. It's sure to be a doozy.</span></div>
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-45697730023877605172012-11-06T09:00:00.000-06:002012-11-06T09:00:08.635-06:00CrafterventionSticking with yesterday's introduction of <a href="http://www.sidenotecal.com/2012/11/novemberesolutions.html">Novemberesolutions</a>, I'd like to introduce you to another little known word <strike>that I just made up</strike>: <br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Craftervention</b> noun <span class="pr">\<span class="unicode">ˈ</span>kraft </span><span class="pron0x">tərˈvɛnʃən\</span><br />
:care provided to improve a situation (especially medical procedures or applications that are intended to relieve illness or injury) for an individual who spends too much time creating articles (often sparkly in nature) fashioned with the hands</blockquote>
<br />
Signs that I may need a craftervention: <br />
<ol>
<li>One morning I had to cut a piece of my hair off because I accidentally got superglue on it while making sparkly star hair pins out of a toilet paper roll and nailpolish.</li>
<li>On a Friday night, I declined an invitation to go get a drink because I was elbow deep in glitter for a craft project and getting it all off would've taken too much effort.</li>
<li>All of the Christmas presents I'm giving this year are going to be handmade from ideas I found on Pinterest.</li>
<li>I go to JoAnn Fabrics and Michael's so often that I could probably open a charge account there and their websites are bookmarked on my phone so I can quickly pull up their electronic weekly coupons. {Also, do you think that JoAnn and Michael were real people? If so, did they have a forbidden romance <span class="st"><em></em></span> la <i>Romeo and Juliet</i> since they are business competitors? Do you think Lifetime would buy the rights to that story if I wrote a script?}</li>
</ol>
<br />
My sister may or may not already be organizing a craftervention for me. I think she's torn because she likes getting all of the crap I make for her children, but is worried that I'm filling some kind of void in life with sequins and <a href="http://www.marthastewart.com/crafts">Martha Stewart craft supplies</a>. She'll let you know when the date is set and the arrangements have been made.Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-55130244370185449092012-11-05T11:20:00.003-06:002012-11-05T11:20:42.469-06:00NovemberesolutionsIt's almost 2013. "Fall back" happened this weekend, which has major implications in my life AKA my car's clock will be an hour ahead for the next 125 days until it's time to "spring forward" on March 10th because I can't for the life of me figure out how to reset it. <br />
<br />
The year is definitely winding down, but I've decided to make a few Novemberesolutions before 2013 begins. In case you've never heard of Novemberesolutions, here is the official definition <strike>that I just made up</strike>:<br />
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<b>Novemberesolution</b> <span class="main-fl"><em>noun</em></span> <span class="pr">\nō-<span class="unicode">ˈ</span>vem-bər- nə-</span><span class="pr"><span class="unicode"></span>re-zə-<span class="unicode">ˈ</span>lü-shən\</span><br />
<span class="ssens"> <strong>:</strong> something that is resolved in the month of November<span class="vi"> <i a="a" i="i" made="made">Novembe</i><em>resolution</em> to mend my ways></span></span><span class="pr"> </span></blockquote>
<span class="pr"><br /></span>
<span class="pr">Here's what I have on my list:</span><br />
<ol>
<li><span class="pr">Read Atlas Shrugged {mostly because I really want to see the movie but I feel guilty not reading the book first. English major guilt is almost as serious as <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Catholic_guilt">Catholic guilt</a>. For reals.}</span></li>
<li><span class="pr">Make my bed every. single. day.</span></li>
<li><span class="pr">Do yoga once a week.</span></li>
<li><span class="pr">Be more awesome.</span></li>
<li><span class="pr">Eat less nachos. {HA. Hahaha. Haha...we all know this isn't going to happen but I figured I should at least pretend to try. That has to count for something, right? Someone? Anyone? Santa?}</span></li>
</ol>
<span class="pr"></span>Do you have anything that you want to accomplish before January 1st? Do you have anything you want ME to<strike></strike> accomplish before January 1st?<br /><span class="pr"> </span>Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-15062970268112314282012-10-31T09:19:00.004-05:002012-10-31T09:19:49.976-05:00Boo!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Ebbie loooves dressing up for Halloween.</div>
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Can't you tell by her expression?</div>
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If you could hear the sounds she was making during this picture, THEN you would be able to tell just how much she loves it. </div>
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Also, even without my little black witch kitty at work with me, I'm pretty sure I'm going to win the Halloween costume contest.</div>
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<img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5805477036718169650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2glRyRIDyDQqMEAad_4y1nwgJSr4DATH-hYc3GKNLGZPQ9HWRfURy1Sv7PEAy73hym7zj3tdcIidrcBqeHtTxdT4ZI34hePx9StrUrbEjTQCRjEAkFa3h8yMsUI0IgiQM2GdA/s320/photo-754974.JPG" /> </div>
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Mostly because I'm the only one who dressed up.</div>
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And because the costume contest doesn't *actually* exist...</div>
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I'm just telling people there is one so I don't feel quite so ridiculous as the only one wearing anything even remotely Halloween related.</div>
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-63556901736407264272012-10-28T17:39:00.001-05:002012-10-28T17:39:06.323-05:00Automatic Shut Off PSA<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXwiwKfOBv6efscme2izi3kglolfromDHS0IC_wLUh8IPPrW-3fObDOzAJZekK9KydGQxtskA6KHK2bEyGP0KyvLNyTw8iei_BlV-afaRUi7Ey8MRTqE7uZkVOVwRPuvILUhW/s1600/Screen+Shot+2012-10-28+at+5.36.19+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="381" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRXwiwKfOBv6efscme2izi3kglolfromDHS0IC_wLUh8IPPrW-3fObDOzAJZekK9KydGQxtskA6KHK2bEyGP0KyvLNyTw8iei_BlV-afaRUi7Ey8MRTqE7uZkVOVwRPuvILUhW/s400/Screen+Shot+2012-10-28+at+5.36.19+PM.png" width="400" /></a><br />
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Today, I'd like to tell you about a cause that is very near and dear to my heart: automatic shut off appliances.</div>
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If it wasn't for the auto shutoff feature on my curling iron & heating pack & straightener & iron, I definitely would've burned the house down.</div>
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Support auto shutoff.</div>
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I do and it has saved my home {countless times over.}</div>
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-65852436757519200122012-10-24T12:09:00.001-05:002012-10-24T12:09:34.779-05:00Best prank ever (that never happened)<div class="mobile-photo">
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There is a lot of construction on campus right now. A lot. </div>
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Which means, there are a lot of construction workers on campus right now. A lot.</div>
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Which means, there are a lot of biffys floating around campus right now. A lot</div>
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And when I say floating, I mean floating.</div>
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Is it wrong that I kind of hope there's someone in there? </div>
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Because really: best.prank.ever.</div>
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-80329138495724967042012-10-17T08:00:00.000-05:002012-10-17T08:00:13.052-05:00Wordless Wednesday: Hug<div style="text-align: center;">
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-81904791288308694892012-10-15T14:35:00.003-05:002012-10-15T14:35:53.482-05:00What's in a name?<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZjQNGXOBbLFnFsllV4lSEuyF_dd3VJpQHEvCVMNBTHpQxhnmOOSGlp1l8bmjs9qPcnSSKYLZm29s406_5ZcfSqw-5-T2S-gTqZTtb-_1CWfP7cfewQ4evr77hQMJheooCBD6/s1600/hurricane+paul.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoZjQNGXOBbLFnFsllV4lSEuyF_dd3VJpQHEvCVMNBTHpQxhnmOOSGlp1l8bmjs9qPcnSSKYLZm29s406_5ZcfSqw-5-T2S-gTqZTtb-_1CWfP7cfewQ4evr77hQMJheooCBD6/s200/hurricane+paul.gif" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Hurricane Paul</i></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>F. Paul Sr. and F. Paul Jr.</i></td></tr>
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<b>Dad:</b> How does it feel to have a hurricane named after you?</div>
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<b>Paul:</b> Probably about the same as it feels for you to have a hurricane named after you...</div>
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<span style="font-size: x-small;">Sidenote: If you haven't already figured it out, my dad and my brother have the same middle name: Paul.</span></div>
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-88072342094934556472012-10-08T10:00:00.000-05:002012-10-08T10:00:01.986-05:00Free PresentsEvery year for Christmas we rotate this cool little chart circle thing to determine gift giving assignments. This year, I have my sister.<br />
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There is a $50 limit on gifts, shipping does not count toward the total and you can also regift items you already own without having to asses the value of that item toward the total.<br />
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Some people buy one gift valued at $50 but I tend to try to get as many things as cheaply as possible.<br />
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This week I have dug up some seriously cool free offers online. Some of them might be total hoaxes. If so, I will be getting copious amounts of junk mail delivered to my work mailbox for the next decade. If not, Katie is getting a ridiculous number of gifts this Christmas.<br />
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Only time will tell.Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-67022706390144614942012-10-05T14:11:00.000-05:002012-10-05T14:12:49.265-05:00K-i-s-s-i-s-s-i-p-p-i<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-size: x-small;"><i> Flowchart created by Caley using purely scientific methods of nonsense.</i></span><br />
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-86310527630644652302012-10-04T23:20:00.000-05:002012-10-05T14:14:42.720-05:00In vino veritasThe first time I tried wine, I hated it.<br />
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I thought there was something wrong with me. As an Italian woman, it is my birthright to love wine. But I didn't. My mom has always loved wine. Back in the day when I was a kid and she wasn't a fancy retired life of leisure lady, she drank boxed Franzia. I thought those little spout pourer gadgets were the coolest thing ever.<br />
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Luckily I didn't give up. I tried more wine. Other wines. All kinds of wine! Turns out I just didn't like that one specific wine. Now? I love wine and all is right with the world. Or all *was* right with the world, anyway.<br />
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Until tonight.<br />
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Tonight, my wine opener pinched the crap out of my hand. So hard it made a little blood blister. Maybe it was protesting having to open such a cheap bottle, or perhaps it just had an off day.<br />
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No matter what the reason, I feel like a very close, dear friend has betrayed me.<br />
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The lesson here? Take note of this important safety issue:<br />
<b>wine with a spout > wine with a cork</b>Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-19190798034333488022012-09-16T13:23:00.000-05:002012-09-16T13:23:21.642-05:00"May you stay, forever young."I love this version of Forever Young and it feels kinda churchy, therefore fitting for a Sunday. If I die before I turn, I don't know, 40? Play this at my funeral.<br />
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After 40 I'll probably be too old to pull it off.<br />
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Although apparently the new definition of being young is not being married. At least according to the kids I babysat last night. They told me that I'm a grown-up because I don't have homework, but I'm young because I'm not married yet. Good to know!<br />
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Oh and I'm going to try to get back into posting regularly. <i>But no promises. </i>Let's just start here and see how it goes.<br />
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Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-36100316393364295722012-08-08T10:49:00.000-05:002012-08-08T10:49:14.426-05:00First KissIt was one of those mornings where I forgot to put on mascara. This may sound shallow, but most girls will understand that is pretty much the epitome of distracted. Some days, there are just too many things swirling around in my little head. Today is one of those days.<br />
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This sweet little video was exactly what I needed. Hope it makes you smile, too.<br />
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">video via @loveka</span>Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-15620033551096765922012-07-19T07:27:00.000-05:002012-07-19T07:27:00.503-05:00Definition of a momToday is my mama's birthday. Every time I see this commercial, I think of the endless hours she spent driving us kids around to ballet, volleyball, soccer, theater. Doctor's appointments, summer camp, play dates. Never did she complain about spending half of her life in the family station wagon. Then mini-van. Then SUV. Instead, she was sad when each of us got a driver's license and didn't need a chauffeur because she missed getting to be with us for that time every day.<br />
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She is the definition of a mom. The best kind. And she's mine.<br />
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Happy birthday, Mama!<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NScs_qX2Okk?rel=0" width="560"></iframe></div>Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-49064838550989282562012-06-25T07:01:00.001-05:002012-06-25T07:01:00.235-05:00Pro-women's rights, anti-pumping gasThere is nothing pleasant about filling the car up with gas. The smell is awful. It's inevitably 90 degrees, freezing cold, or pouring rain when I hit empty. The music they play over the loudspeakers is horrible and I'm constantly afraid of pulling a Garden State and driving off with the hose thing still connected to my car. {Not an irrational fear. I get a little preoccupied sometimes.}<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgdgEEEYV73sY1ReyhoveyoZO1x6gTfmxeC_mCK58j-e4ldYrRVviXyWYBzDGrwgHoYQzsnfQ3Mb5w-Rk4rvD8x9qBhmQC8YoyTy04ANNqG7ZxOhQ9Medm80MMpR8zcHtJZc2/s1600/garden+state.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="139" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRgdgEEEYV73sY1ReyhoveyoZO1x6gTfmxeC_mCK58j-e4ldYrRVviXyWYBzDGrwgHoYQzsnfQ3Mb5w-Rk4rvD8x9qBhmQC8YoyTy04ANNqG7ZxOhQ9Medm80MMpR8zcHtJZc2/s320/garden+state.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
I propose we bring back the whole "women can't pump their own gas," thing. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for women's rights but that is one that I'd gladly give up. Ideally, we could just hit that sweet spot after women were allowed to drive and before we were allowed to pump our own gas.<br />
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Just another one of my platforms for when I run for office. Vote for me in 2030. {It rhymes.}Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-13051352457330468632012-06-22T07:33:00.002-05:002012-06-22T07:33:00.432-05:00MISSING: pillow cases<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_Rf0jP61QVpGirF5YmzFZtAKsVDkuxWvm53ijHIJ0FZ4eNstehpdMVy9RAUBqmSkIFr44-XQSo2JQhTgF0_JZRWoslPXYxdIt3ExXhUSA3jiKGktZAoblA5PS0TtaFDaIrTe/s1600/lost+socks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_Rf0jP61QVpGirF5YmzFZtAKsVDkuxWvm53ijHIJ0FZ4eNstehpdMVy9RAUBqmSkIFr44-XQSo2JQhTgF0_JZRWoslPXYxdIt3ExXhUSA3jiKGktZAoblA5PS0TtaFDaIrTe/s1600/lost+socks.jpg" /></a></div>Fact: My washing machine eats pillow-cases like most peoples' eat socks.<br />
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WHERE do they all go? No joke, this is starting to become a serious problem. One of the pillows on my bed is currently wrapped in a towel. I wonder if Sams Club sells them in bulk...<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.atwestend.com/Catalogue/wall/lost-socks-hanger" target="_blank"><i><span style="font-size: xx-small;">{Image source}</span></i></a></div>Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-55238668300063025912012-06-20T13:29:00.007-05:002012-06-20T13:29:00.529-05:00{Non} Crew<div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"My friend Phil is coming in from California again this summer to go fishing at the cabin. He had so much fun last time when you kids had people up there! Paul has his ultramarathon that weekend so I thought you could get your crew together."</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Dad, I don't have a crew."</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Sure you do! You have Kristin and, um, well...oh. Maybe you don't."</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;">"Thanks, Dad."</div><br />
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Moral of the story? My friends need to stop moving away. Also, I'm now accepting applications to be part of my entourage. Please email your friendship resume to <a href="mailto:sidenotecal@gmail.com">sidenotecal@gmail.com</a>. I am an equal opportunity employer. Applicants must live in Minnesota and promise never to leave. Thank you.<i><br />
</i>Calhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00766775028974789500noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8140589.post-45189523531739061992012-06-19T13:10:00.001-05:002012-06-19T13:11:14.180-05:00Monsters in the dark<div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="mobile-photo">You guys, it's happening: bugs are taking over the world. Last night I was snuggled in my warm, comfy bed with the ceiling fan running at exactly the right speed and a perfect new song playing on repeat when I heard the cat freaking out in the living room. FREAKING OUT. Batting at the blinds, meowing, jumping around. </div><div class="mobile-photo"><br />
</div><div class="mobile-photo"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_12u7jwJzr6bca63BryTyYl5RT25Gm2PfreqKvgjv7NfCx2pxEdkl7AO349fk3Q4HWzD2bHGZKs51wl_1vtLewUNgrXAfywahD3c4nMVo0hpuL2DzT78wIpVsUUSs6h_jwSd/s1600/photo+1-739554.JPG" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="200" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5755799662520752194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_12u7jwJzr6bca63BryTyYl5RT25Gm2PfreqKvgjv7NfCx2pxEdkl7AO349fk3Q4HWzD2bHGZKs51wl_1vtLewUNgrXAfywahD3c4nMVo0hpuL2DzT78wIpVsUUSs6h_jwSd/s200/photo+1-739554.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHtcyezPHsNc60IXMkBlg5zTZNLy29vwDdoGifTm2aGMzpZUBOVf3CX49aM3EEVYPLf41Phl5vOO7s8JXAqHyQgCNLwV8rKP21lghzF8J7aDn0nl_JBSkGTeC3MRxf7GXxW7mi/s1600/photo+2-741325.JPG" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" border="0" height="200" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5755799668894049890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHtcyezPHsNc60IXMkBlg5zTZNLy29vwDdoGifTm2aGMzpZUBOVf3CX49aM3EEVYPLf41Phl5vOO7s8JXAqHyQgCNLwV8rKP21lghzF8J7aDn0nl_JBSkGTeC3MRxf7GXxW7mi/s200/photo+2-741325.JPG" width="200" /></a></div><div class="mobile-photo"></div><div class="mobile-photo">When I got up to check on her, I saw it. IT. A horrifying dragon dinosaur alien bug creature.* It had pincers. Big ones. And it's underside was all scaly. {These pics don't do it justice.}</div><div class="mobile-photo"><br />
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</div><div class="mobile-photo">After trying to flick it off the screen unsuccessfully, I gave up and went back to bed only to be dive-bombed by a kamakaze fly the size of a dime. Never have I seen a mutant freak of a fly that big.</div><div class="mobile-photo"><br />
</div><div class="mobile-photo">Of course when I leaped up on the bed I got light headed from standing too fast. Almost lost my hand to that lovely ceiling fan and nearly fell off the bed trying to nunchuck it to death with a cardigan {it was the closest thing I could grab.}</div><div class="mobile-photo"><br />
</div><div class="mobile-photo">I'm telling you...they're taking over.</div><div class="mobile-photo"><br />
</div><div class="mobile-photo"><i>*Someone on twitter informed it was an <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Earwig#Relationship_with_people" target="_blank">earwig</a>. Eeeeew.</i></div><div class="mobile-photo"><br />
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