<?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:blogger='http://schemas.google.com/blogger/2008' 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-8675515648658538788</id><updated>2026-05-14T07:46:18.900-04:00</updated><category term="funerals"/><category term="genetics"/><category term="homebirth"/><category term="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-J7qhGw5siBM/Tv1b_o8BcvI/AAAAAAAAANA/b6o2kCP20TY/s1600/More%2Bdecember%2Bphone%2Bpics%2B020.jpg"/><category term="music"/><category term="pregnancy"/><title type='text'>A Blunt Analysis</title><subtitle type='html'>If things get any worse, I&#39;ll have to ask you to stop helping me.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default?redirect=false'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false'/><author><name>A Blunt Analysis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14682435870488997118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9g2caaQ2kgA/SXFxyDBswVI/AAAAAAAAAAo/akmERemnKMs/S220/Fall+2008+014.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>295</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-3753149123358957840</id><published>2023-02-23T00:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2023-02-23T00:22:44.377-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Oops, I Did It Again </title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;I married a man who believes that Britney Spears didn&#39;t deserve her money, and should have stayed under the conservatorship of her father. &quot;She&#39;s mentally ill.&quot;, he said. &quot;Oh, so mentally ill people aren&#39;t entitled to the money they earn?&quot;, I asked. &quot;If they are mentally ill, no.&quot; he replied. &quot;She wasn&#39;t too mentally ill to be out there making all that money, but she&#39;s somehow too mentally ill to have access to it?&quot;. Exasperated, he raised his voice and said, &quot;You realize you&#39;re the only one in the room who even gives a shit about Britney Spears?!&quot;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; It all started when the kids received gifts from Granny. Each kid received a plush llama, that once activated, danced and twerked to the song, &quot;...Baby One More Time&quot;. Yes, I said a twerking llama. I wondered when they were made, and if Britney had gotten any of the money. I said to my husband, &quot;Do your kids even know who Britney Spears is?&quot; A collective &quot;No&quot; went up. &quot;Well, she&#39;s a pop star, and back in the day, she was called The Princess of Pop-&quot; &quot;Who can&#39;t sing for shit&quot; my husband interrupted, which I find hilarious, considering he insists on listening to Nirvana&#39;s &quot;You Know You&#39;re Right&quot;&amp;nbsp;every. single. day. (Nothing against Kurt Cobain, but his paint-stripping vocals on that song do not give me warm fuzzies, but I digress) Actually, no one would argue that Kurt Cobain also suffered from mental illness; did he deserve the money he made?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; Anyway, I tried to give an age-appropriate background story to the song now being played on repeat throughout the house (times three), and got to the conservator part and he interrupted. He said, &quot;She married that guy. In Vegas.&quot;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&quot;Her childhood friend? For 55 hours before having it&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;annulled? She was an adult. She got married on a whim. Does that mean she shouldn&#39;t have access to her own money?&quot; (As a &quot;city hall bride&quot;, myself, I found this logic disturbing.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;2007 found Britney in a rocky marriage, juggling a newborn and a toddler, suffering from postpartum depression, plus the tragic loss of a close, beloved family member. She was under tremendous pressure to perform, and also release a new album. Britney was in and out of treatment centers for drug use. Her divorce was finalized later that year. Britney&#39;s ex-husband posted on social media that he makes only $3,000/ month working as a DJ. He failed to mention the $40k/ month he&#39;s received/will continue to receive each month in spousal support. (That&#39;s over $7.5 million, to date.) Poor guy.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; My first husband had nothing nice to say, whatsoever, when it came to Britney Spears. That is, until he was visiting his best friend in Florida and realized a lot of her music was on his playlists. Then suddenly she was ok. But he still felt Britney&#39;s father was the best one to be put in charge of her $130 (now 60) million.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;span&gt;&lt;span&gt;&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp; This time around, what started out as an interesting conversation about fame, power, money, and mental illness quickly devolved into a fight about autonomy, mental illness, and whether or not a grown woman can be in control of the money she earns with her own talents. When you&#39;re dealing with a person like this, the &quot;shut down&quot;, no matter how painful at the time, is merely an indication that you had a point and they didn&#39;t know how to respond. Hint to these personality types: a simple, &quot;Hmmm I never thought of it that way&quot; can go a long way, if your ego and pride will let you extend that olive branch.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/3753149123358957840/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2023/02/oops-i-did-it-again.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/3753149123358957840'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/3753149123358957840'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2023/02/oops-i-did-it-again.html' title='Oops, I Did It Again '/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-4169471456500042181</id><published>2020-12-30T12:39:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2020-12-30T12:39:43.219-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Trapped</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;This morning I let the dogs out and while they were out, I went to go pee. Then I washed my hands, and I&#39;ve been trying to get in the habit of putting lotion on my hands afterwards, so my hands don&#39;t look like that of a crypt keeper. So I&#39;m rubbing lotion on my hands and I got a little more than I had intended. And Arden starts talking to me from the other side of the door. I try to come out to talk to her, and I can&#39;t get the door open because my hands are too lotiony. So I quickly try to rub it in more, and try the door again. Nope, still too lotiony. Now, Arden is on the other side of the door hearing me try to open the door multiple times. I need to find new places for the lotion, so I start rubbing my elbows and my forearms. I try the door knob again, and it might have been okay, except I&#39;d already smeared lotion on it twice. So I still can&#39;t open the door. Arden has now heard me try to open the door three times, so she says, &quot;Are you stuck in there or something?&quot;.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;By now I&#39;m laughing hysterically because I&#39;m trapped in the bathroom, and the door isn&#39;t even locked. And I&#39;m rubbing the lotion on my neck and my face and my belly (it didn&#39;t occur to me that I could have used a towel), and trying the door again.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I should point out that at no time in this conversation did Arden try to help me out and open the door for me. She just kept talking.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I finally got the door open. I&#39;m greasy head to toe, and laughing at the whole thing and Arden says, &quot;Are you drunk?!&quot;&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;It&#39;s 8am!!!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;And she thinks I&#39;m drunk. Which is really, really funny. And kicks off renewed laughter.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;They&#39;ve been worried about me for a while now, but I&#39;m sure they will be planning an intervention after this.&lt;/p&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/4169471456500042181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2020/12/trapped.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/4169471456500042181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/4169471456500042181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2020/12/trapped.html' title='Trapped'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-3016784790928898978</id><published>2020-09-08T16:59:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2020-09-08T16:59:42.186-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey, Ron! Look What Happened When Your 2nd Moved to Texas!</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&amp;nbsp;Yeah, this is apparently how millennials do it these days. You just log on to social media and learn big news about friends and family.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;Also, your eldest bought a house, but cannot host a big House Warming party because of the pandemic.&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRIrRZcfN1vUFLjnMrY1RQCFOj-pcS7PNoGLgKIYqBvKjlHOG80RAWKPQD7SZ_Aw0tbOtew9MU-Rbok5BpFfHhNvkwxZ2ISN4wgPZwiDZmbo3l_uQF9dLGchyphenhyphenA6NdG3BAIXQEh8a6c2RU/s960/paige+announcement.png&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; data-original-height=&quot;960&quot; data-original-width=&quot;578&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRIrRZcfN1vUFLjnMrY1RQCFOj-pcS7PNoGLgKIYqBvKjlHOG80RAWKPQD7SZ_Aw0tbOtew9MU-Rbok5BpFfHhNvkwxZ2ISN4wgPZwiDZmbo3l_uQF9dLGchyphenhyphenA6NdG3BAIXQEh8a6c2RU/s320/paige+announcement.png&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDQOXNoL_DbrGI7V9g9Pp6EETGS-AyG_PtJAO0hTOQ_PCgT5KNsrK_qLjPWl5KkGlVOTAQRmNEYkIQgHTd7bDv4PX-8p-KhzQFAWze6GrKUGlUhu0GPKUYX-QqAOw6YPlXkR-aGUdWWQ/s960/finger+tattoos.png&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; data-original-height=&quot;960&quot; data-original-width=&quot;578&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggDQOXNoL_DbrGI7V9g9Pp6EETGS-AyG_PtJAO0hTOQ_PCgT5KNsrK_qLjPWl5KkGlVOTAQRmNEYkIQgHTd7bDv4PX-8p-KhzQFAWze6GrKUGlUhu0GPKUYX-QqAOw6YPlXkR-aGUdWWQ/s320/finger+tattoos.png&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/3016784790928898978/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2020/09/hey-ron-look-what-happened-when-your.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/3016784790928898978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/3016784790928898978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2020/09/hey-ron-look-what-happened-when-your.html' title='Hey, Ron! Look What Happened When Your 2nd Moved to Texas!'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRIrRZcfN1vUFLjnMrY1RQCFOj-pcS7PNoGLgKIYqBvKjlHOG80RAWKPQD7SZ_Aw0tbOtew9MU-Rbok5BpFfHhNvkwxZ2ISN4wgPZwiDZmbo3l_uQF9dLGchyphenhyphenA6NdG3BAIXQEh8a6c2RU/s72-c/paige+announcement.png" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-2526134070320741852</id><published>2020-06-05T16:40:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2020-06-05T16:40:29.391-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey Ron! It&#39;s a Pandemic!</title><content type='html'>Not only are you missing the Pandemic of 2020, and the BLM protests against Police Brutality, but your son had to finish out the school year online, with distance learning, and we received his report card in the mail today. He got all A&#39;s!&lt;br /&gt;
In addition to attending the protests, 4/5 of your kids are back at work, now. Masks are abundant and everyone is being careful. I enforce a strict &quot;10 minutes *minimum* a day of sunshine&quot;, to keep their Vitamin D levels up. They are taking zinc and iodine and Vitamin C. You know I&#39;m staying up late into the night, reading all about this virus, and learning from autopsy reports, and making grand announcements that everyone is terrified to disobey. I&#39;ve supplied them with supplements and inhalers and nebulizers and o2 monitors.&lt;br /&gt;
They are adults, and making smart choices. You&#39;d be so proud. I wish you were here to help our eldest pick out a house. That was always going to be your job, remember? Walking through each house, channeling every cast member from This Old House, talking about &quot;good bones&quot;, or spotting termite damage from 50 yards, and proclaiming in Tom Silva&#39;s voice, &quot;All this has to come out!&quot;.&lt;br /&gt;
The best I can do is pass on all I learned through Saturday Morning Osmosis.&lt;br /&gt;
We are buying a new mower soon. If you could see the state of the yard, you&#39;d come back from the dead just to fire up a Gravely and &quot;knock down the high spots&quot;.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I hope at least one kid got your lawn mowing work ethic, haha.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/2526134070320741852/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2020/06/hey-ron-its-pandemic.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/2526134070320741852'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/2526134070320741852'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2020/06/hey-ron-its-pandemic.html' title='Hey Ron! It&#39;s a Pandemic!'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-1689941526931047053</id><published>2019-02-04T18:27:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2019-02-04T18:27:49.492-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey, Ron! During the Superbowl Sadie Sent Out a FB Post...</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_LANcLsaQEL01IPjZpgy7J_n8TQoLEny5u1HeIoYh-KW1FjYJgrJCr6QeCaKZO2uU7xuwFL4zMtdF__dE6Lul_aAM1Up7QNNOOFilxkjfAG70eqMwAPJUv_dBJJ55jz-EzzfhPqhKKc/s1600/Screenshot_2019-02-03-22-22-36.png&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; data-original-height=&quot;1600&quot; data-original-width=&quot;900&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_LANcLsaQEL01IPjZpgy7J_n8TQoLEny5u1HeIoYh-KW1FjYJgrJCr6QeCaKZO2uU7xuwFL4zMtdF__dE6Lul_aAM1Up7QNNOOFilxkjfAG70eqMwAPJUv_dBJJ55jz-EzzfhPqhKKc/s320/Screenshot_2019-02-03-22-22-36.png&quot; width=&quot;180&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
How millennial! Lol!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/1689941526931047053/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2019/02/hey-ron-during-superbowl-sadie-sent-out.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/1689941526931047053'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/1689941526931047053'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2019/02/hey-ron-during-superbowl-sadie-sent-out.html' title='Hey, Ron! During the Superbowl Sadie Sent Out a FB Post...'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgp_LANcLsaQEL01IPjZpgy7J_n8TQoLEny5u1HeIoYh-KW1FjYJgrJCr6QeCaKZO2uU7xuwFL4zMtdF__dE6Lul_aAM1Up7QNNOOFilxkjfAG70eqMwAPJUv_dBJJ55jz-EzzfhPqhKKc/s72-c/Screenshot_2019-02-03-22-22-36.png" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-94170494304170903</id><published>2019-02-04T18:24:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2019-02-04T18:24:38.962-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey, Ron! We did it! 5/5</title><content type='html'>Tessa got her license! Five out of five kids are now licensed drivers. You&#39;d be so proud of them!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXK_VvEQ3oqwCL22oF1WQbDuE7-I7iH2ATMD0MZJG_Cga7OyehJx84TlvActoFXaEpobL4s6-Ace7DRM0es2ln3_Fg55jQAXjt3ml98JgPnwtHfwzWvmotK8CfguHZzKfWEFHGGV6is0g/s1600/AirBrush_20190129153804.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; data-original-height=&quot;1600&quot; data-original-width=&quot;985&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXK_VvEQ3oqwCL22oF1WQbDuE7-I7iH2ATMD0MZJG_Cga7OyehJx84TlvActoFXaEpobL4s6-Ace7DRM0es2ln3_Fg55jQAXjt3ml98JgPnwtHfwzWvmotK8CfguHZzKfWEFHGGV6is0g/s320/AirBrush_20190129153804.jpg&quot; width=&quot;197&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/94170494304170903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2019/02/hey-ron-we-did-it-55.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/94170494304170903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/94170494304170903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2019/02/hey-ron-we-did-it-55.html' title='Hey, Ron! We did it! 5/5'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXK_VvEQ3oqwCL22oF1WQbDuE7-I7iH2ATMD0MZJG_Cga7OyehJx84TlvActoFXaEpobL4s6-Ace7DRM0es2ln3_Fg55jQAXjt3ml98JgPnwtHfwzWvmotK8CfguHZzKfWEFHGGV6is0g/s72-c/AirBrush_20190129153804.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-2099558715146732860</id><published>2018-12-13T21:09:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2018-12-13T21:09:20.704-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey, Ron!</title><content type='html'>Hey, Ron! I feel like you&#39;d be a fan of Greta Van Fleet.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
https://youtu.be/TrIzgD9i7hU&lt;br style=&quot;background-color: #0084ff;&quot; /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/2099558715146732860/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/12/hey-ron.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/2099558715146732860'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/2099558715146732860'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/12/hey-ron.html' title='Hey, Ron!'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-1772093448445640505</id><published>2018-12-13T20:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2018-12-13T20:26:32.226-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey, Ron! (Trip to McD&#39;s)</title><content type='html'>Hey, Ron!&lt;br /&gt;
Remember that time you took me home to meet your parents, but you&#39;d failed to tell them when we would be arriving and we showed up just as they were about to sit down to a nice dinner they&#39;d made, complete with wine?&lt;br /&gt;
You said, &quot;Boy, that looks good! I&#39;m kind of hungry.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
And I looked at the &lt;i&gt;two &lt;/i&gt;plates on the table and said, &quot;I think we are interrupting their dinner.&quot; and you said, &quot;No, it&#39;s ok.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
Your parents insisted that we eat their dinner. I was so embarrassed, and nervous. They seemed so nice and generous. [That opinion has never wavered]&lt;br /&gt;
After dinner we borrowed their car so you could drive around and show me your hometown. As we passed McDonald&#39;s, you hit the breaks and said, &quot;Are you thirsty? I&#39;m thirsty. I&#39;m going to get a drink!&quot; It seemed like an odd thing, to suddenly be super thirsty. To be honest, I wondered if you were an undiagnosed diabetic, or something. You pulled up to the drive-thru, ordered a drink, pulled up to the window, paid and got your drink, and drove away.&lt;br /&gt;
Later that evening you confessed that you&#39;d stopped because you saw your old girlfriend was working, and you wanted her to see you out with your new girlfriend. I laughed and laughed.&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;My god, that&#39;s so... petty!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;I guess so.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;Really, that&#39;s so passive-aggressive!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;You think she was jealous?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;Oh, definitely. I&#39;m pretty hot.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
[27 years later the two of you would get married in a quiet ceremony atop scenic Dorsey&#39;s Knob, but we didn&#39;t know that then. This was a story we would chuckle about often, over the years, and any time we drove past that McDonald&#39;s I&#39;d ask, &quot;Do you need to get a drink?&quot;]</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/1772093448445640505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/12/hey-ron-trip-to-mcds.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/1772093448445640505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/1772093448445640505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/12/hey-ron-trip-to-mcds.html' title='Hey, Ron! (Trip to McD&#39;s)'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-4813751661284700043</id><published>2018-12-13T20:02:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2018-12-13T20:02:28.751-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey, Ron! Harrison Got his License</title><content type='html'>&lt;div class=&quot;separator&quot; style=&quot;clear: both; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;
&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRnZHQ4phFsPjwYQ5wWAECg5uRK6FLEqo5BRXI8Sj1sqO0-2mT_RmofJ8Ikxfh5TnHxZo45YGbCukjtvg3Y5cFSzpO0iRmqL9YrhJx8Y8zppG50vlHspGpYQY0Rc6bMLRN68c_ab1hwA/s1600/Inked20161228_162854_LI.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; data-original-height=&quot;1600&quot; data-original-width=&quot;900&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRnZHQ4phFsPjwYQ5wWAECg5uRK6FLEqo5BRXI8Sj1sqO0-2mT_RmofJ8Ikxfh5TnHxZo45YGbCukjtvg3Y5cFSzpO0iRmqL9YrhJx8Y8zppG50vlHspGpYQY0Rc6bMLRN68c_ab1hwA/s320/Inked20161228_162854_LI.jpg&quot; width=&quot;180&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
Hey, Ron!&lt;br /&gt;
Harrison learned to drive and got his license. I taught him myself and gave him lots of practice. He even aced the parallel parking part!&lt;br /&gt;
I have to admit the best part of spending all that time alone in the van together was the long, philosophical discussions about life, the Universe... Everything.&lt;br /&gt;
I have already lost my gym buddy, since he can drive himself there, now. I will be sad to lose my deep thought thinker when he gets a car of his own.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/4813751661284700043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/12/hey-ron-harrison-got-his-license.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/4813751661284700043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/4813751661284700043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/12/hey-ron-harrison-got-his-license.html' title='Hey, Ron! Harrison Got his License'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSRnZHQ4phFsPjwYQ5wWAECg5uRK6FLEqo5BRXI8Sj1sqO0-2mT_RmofJ8Ikxfh5TnHxZo45YGbCukjtvg3Y5cFSzpO0iRmqL9YrhJx8Y8zppG50vlHspGpYQY0Rc6bMLRN68c_ab1hwA/s72-c/Inked20161228_162854_LI.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-7614692283723523430</id><published>2018-12-02T00:05:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2018-12-02T00:05:30.008-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hey, Ron! - A New Separate Blog within a Blog </title><content type='html'>On April 25, 2016 Ron Staubly unexpectedly passed away. He left behind 5 kids, a set of parents that loved him more than anything, a wife and an ex-wife. He left behind friends and co-workers. He left with so much of his story untold and unwritten. We are nothing but our memories, in the end. This blog-within-a-blog will try to record these memories as they come to me. They will also help fill in what he&#39;s missing. Due to the nature of the human mind, these will not be in order, chronological or otherwise.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
April 25, 2016&lt;br /&gt;
Harrison sobbing in the car, &quot;I wanted him to come to my concert. I&#39;m playing a Led Zeppelin song and I didn&#39;t even tell him because he loves Led Zeppelin and I wanted it to be a surprise.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
April 27, 2016&lt;br /&gt;
I bought clothes for Harrison, for the funeral. We went to Target and he tried them on and liked what he saw in the mirror. Then he asked if he needed a tie. I said, &quot;Valgardr has ties; you can borrow one from him.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
He was quiet for a moment and tears started falling down his cheeks and he said, &quot;I don&#39;t know know how to tie a tie.&quot; His breath caught and he continued, &quot;I don&#39;t know how to do a lot of things.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
In the car on the ride home, Harrison looked out the window and said, &quot;He was going to teach me to drive this summer. I know other people can teach me, but it&#39;s sad knowing he never will. He&#39;d probably always looked forward to that, when I was little and growing up.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I once asked Ron (when he was about 30) what he saw his life like at 50.&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;Pfff! I won&#39;t make 50!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;Why the hell not?!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;I don&#39;t know. I just always felt like that. You know?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;No! &lt;i&gt;I&#39;m &lt;/i&gt;going to be 50! I&#39;m going to be a hundred and two! Why can&#39;t you see past 50?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;I don&#39;t know.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
He died when he was 49.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I never stopped loving him. I never even tried to stop loving him. I just accepted that he was happier away from me/ us all the time. Over the past couple years during the divorce, I&#39;d think of an inside joke, or remember something funny that happened, and I&#39;d text him and say, &quot;Remember the time we...?&quot; and he would always text back, &quot;Please keep all of our correspondence strictly about the children.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
I thought, in time, he&#39;d come around and we&#39;d be able to chat about the old days again. So much of our lives are tangled in each other stories. Now that can never happen, and I carry these stories alone.&lt;br /&gt;
Kristy is his widow. There is no name for me, the Not-Widow. There is no place for me to grieve.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/7614692283723523430/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/12/hey-ron-new-separate-blog-within-blog.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/7614692283723523430'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/7614692283723523430'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/12/hey-ron-new-separate-blog-within-blog.html' title='Hey, Ron! - A New Separate Blog within a Blog '/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-8980031381482376520</id><published>2018-11-28T20:46:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2018-11-28T20:46:27.408-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Crossing the Threshold for Passion</title><content type='html'>In a &lt;a href=&quot;https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zDQUvm_Qdiw&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;viral video&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;Bryce Dudal spotted a baby grand piano in the living room of a home to which he was delivering pizza. He asked &quot;Is that a baby grand piano? Can I play it?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
The resulting home video made him famous.&lt;br /&gt;
Bryce Dudal is also a baseball player, and is going to college on a baseball scholarship. I&#39;m sure if he&#39;d delivered a pizza to the same home and instead of a baby grand piano, Hall of Fame Pitcher Randy Johnson was sitting in the living room, he would have said, &quot;Is that Randy Johnson? Can I meet him?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
Piano and baseball are his passions.&lt;br /&gt;
When delivering pizza, one gets a peek into the personal lives and homes of all kinds of folks. Usually, no matter what&#39;s on the other side of that door, one is content to smile politely, collect a tip, and be on their way. Every now and then, however, something is on the other side of that door that would make you cross the threshold and enter a private home to get a closer look.&lt;br /&gt;
I posed that question to my kids; What would make you cross the threshold?&lt;br /&gt;
For most folks, even if you enjoyed playing the piano, odds are if you spotted one in a house, you&#39;d likely think &quot;Cool piano&quot; and be on your way. You wouldn&#39;t ask to enter their home and touch their personal property. Bryce Dudal had a passion for playing, a passion for performing, and he crossed that threshold for the opportunity.&lt;br /&gt;
A baby grand piano would barely register with me. Same with a baseball player. What &lt;i&gt;would&lt;/i&gt; get me across that threshold? I&#39;m not sure. A laboring woman. An American Mastiff puppy. I want to think about it more.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So today I want you to ask yourself, &quot;What&#39;s on the other side of that door?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
What are you passionate about, that you&#39;d swallow pride, gather courage and ask, &quot;Hey, can I come in and see that?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/8980031381482376520/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/11/crossing-threshold-for-passion.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/8980031381482376520'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/8980031381482376520'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/11/crossing-threshold-for-passion.html' title='Crossing the Threshold for Passion'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-3945551915689491326</id><published>2018-10-23T12:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2018-10-23T12:36:07.585-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Your Kid Can&#39;t Play with My Kid Unless They&#39;ve Had These Vaccinations</title><content type='html'>This is taken from a little (maybe a lot) rambly discussion I had with someone on facebook this morning.&lt;br /&gt;
They had posted something from a &quot;real scientist&quot; about how the anti-vaccine movement was &quot;killing kids&quot;, and by not vaccinating, they are &quot;just begging for once-deadly diseases in the US to make a big comeback&quot;. Vaccines are safe, effective, and readily available, so why even take the risk of getting the disease?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
When people challenge my vaccine stance, using their own logic, I ask them about smallpox, rabies, and TB. There&#39;s an anti-vaccine movement in the US, for you.&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;If everyone stops getting vaccines, we run the risk of once-deadly diseases returning&quot; they tell us.&lt;br /&gt;
Ok, if vaccines are so safe and effective, why would we *ever* stop getting these (or any) vaccines?&lt;br /&gt;
TB is the most deadly infection in the world.&lt;br /&gt;
So why aren&#39;t we giving those shots to kids today? There&#39;s no way we have herd immunity to it, and TB is highly contagious.&lt;br /&gt;
Because TB no longer exist in the US? Well, wouldn&#39;t international travel risk it being brought in, the way Disney measles and Amish measles were? We should all still safeguard against the most deadly infection in the world, right?&lt;br /&gt;
Besides-&lt;br /&gt;
A total of 9,582 TB cases were reported in the United States in 2013. &lt;br /&gt;
There were 536 US deaths from TB in 2011, the most recent year for which these data are available.&lt;br /&gt;
Compare that to the average of 100 cases of measles in the US, with zero deaths.&lt;br /&gt;
Both diseases are highly contagious. Why are you so afraid of measles, but not of TB?&lt;br /&gt;
I repeat, TB is the most deadly infection in the world. 9 million cases a year, 1.5 million deaths, yet the entire US is an anti-vaccine movement against TB.&lt;br /&gt;
The US does not routinely vaccinate, and has never routinely vaccinated, against TB.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The US stopped vaccination against smallpox. Why? Even if it is eliminated from the planet (which it is not), why stop vaccination? Aren&#39;t we afraid that by not vaccinating against these diseases we risk losing our herd immunity if it ever comes back? I want my herd immunity!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Rabies. Diagnosis of rabies is almost always a death sentence. It can be easily contracted from the playful nip of an infected puppy, the fearful bite of a stray kitten, the painless bite from a bat that enters through a breezy open window... By the time symptoms present themselves, it&#39;s too late to help you.&lt;br /&gt;
Vaccines are so safe and effective, why don&#39;t we routinely vaccinate against rabies? If your child is not vaccinated against rabies and shares a sippy cup with my child, my child could get sick. Deathly sick. Why risk it?&lt;br /&gt;
Why risk almost certain death, when a safe, effective vaccine exists and is readily available? Because your children are never going to be exposed to dogs or cats, sippy cups, or sleep with the windows open, or go camping?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
The US has been anti-vaccine in three very deadly, highly contagious diseases, yet we are not walking around constantly fearful of these diseases, and we are not dropping over dead from these diseases. Why not? Because the propaganda has not told us to be fearful of these diseases, and to get vaccinated against them for the Greater Good and Herd Immunity.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/3945551915689491326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/10/your-kid-cant-play-with-my-kid-unless.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/3945551915689491326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/3945551915689491326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/10/your-kid-cant-play-with-my-kid-unless.html' title='Your Kid Can&#39;t Play with My Kid Unless They&#39;ve Had These Vaccinations'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-3650243735923843970</id><published>2018-10-23T12:33:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2018-10-23T12:33:16.129-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Finally Got My Parenting Report Card Back.</title><content type='html'>I know you&#39;re mad. I honestly tried to piece together the best I could with what I had. What I had inside, what your dad provided, what support I could get from friends and family. No one gets perfect. To me, you deserved perfect, so I tried to give you the best things that would make you smart and independent. I tried to give you tools to eat from the earth, and not junk. To love all kinds of music. To love to wear secondhand clothes, and not get caught up on material things. I tried to teach you to love simplicity, and not need fancy and glittery. To love all types of people. I let you guys dye your hair blue, when other parents freaked out. I taught you manners, so you could walk into any room and know that you belong there. I taught you that you are worth it. You are worth it. You were always worth it. When others told me you weren&#39;t, I insisted that you were.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-&lt;i&gt;The most sick thing that you ever did is made us believe that everything we went through was normal. I&#39;ve lived and stayed with so many other people, I think it&#39;s safe to say it was not normal. I&#39;m not okay.&lt;/i&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I don&#39;t know anyone who had &quot;normal&quot;. When you start talking to them, it starts to come out. Their dad was gay, or an alcoholic, or they were on welfare, or they kept moving to avoid the police, or their mother committed suicide, or their mother wasn&#39;t really their mother...&lt;br /&gt;
Humans of New York shows us that, too. Normal people walking around, but they all carry this story, of how things weren&#39;t normal. Some people have horrible pasts to overcome.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-&lt;i&gt;But even through all that shit, they still managed to give their children the best childhood they could. You did amazing things as a parent and you tried your best, but you would purposely make us feel like shit. You had so much built up anger that you didn&#39;t know what to do with it.&lt;/i&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I had my kids and thought as long as I didn&#39;t make the mistakes my mom had made, it would be ok. I thought, since I had child development training, and early childhood education, that I could do ok. I read books, and took classes.&lt;br /&gt;
And I didn&#39;t make the mistakes my mom made. I made all new ones.&lt;br /&gt;
But when you&#39;re in it, and there&#39;s no way out, and everyone around you has different ideas of what needs done to your kids to make them behave, you start to lose your bearings.&lt;br /&gt;
But I always got up. Wyle E Coyote. Bill Clinton. Oprah. The little acorn dude in Ice Age. Lady Gaga. Cher. You get back up. You try again. And again.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
-&lt;i&gt;You can&#39;t hold things that toddlers did against the adults they have become. You should have not had kids if you still had all these issues.&lt;/i&gt;-&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
But you see, you don&#39;t even know you still have the issues, lol. You find out five and ten years in. You don&#39;t know how you will feel about things, even if you think you do. I always knew if I had a son I&#39;d keep his hair short. I always said that. Til I got a son. And he wanted long hair. Lots of people criticized my parenting then, but I didn&#39;t care. If my son wanted long hair, so what?&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s a million little decisions like that every day, with the world- your family, friends, tv, movies, commercials, all telling you what you &lt;i&gt;should&lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;do, and it&#39;s all different.&lt;br /&gt;
Every day, a million choices, a million decisions. When to push, when to let them fall, when to do it yourself, when to make them learn it. Do you push your kids to brush their teeth, or let them get meth mouth?&lt;br /&gt;
And you do it on lack of sleep, lack of money, lack of support, lack of love, because the kids will hate you. God, they will hate you, no matter what. They will hate you when you pour your blood out and you are sick, and in the hospital, they will hate you because they had to miss pokemon. If I could do it over, I&#39;d do lots of things differently. But we don&#39;t get to do it over. We have to live with the mistakes. That&#39;s the curse.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;You know, come to think of it. You really don&#39;t have to be a good parent, so long as you teach your kids forgiveness.&quot;&amp;nbsp; ~Rich Wellner</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/3650243735923843970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/10/finally-got-my-parenting-report-card.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/3650243735923843970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/3650243735923843970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/10/finally-got-my-parenting-report-card.html' title='Finally Got My Parenting Report Card Back.'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-8331860727084218875</id><published>2018-10-23T12:14:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2018-10-23T12:14:20.981-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Inertia</title><content type='html'>Hey. You know that moment when you know you should work out... And then you don&#39;t. And 5 seconds later you know you *won&#39;t*?&lt;br /&gt;
You&#39;ve had that, right?&lt;br /&gt;
Ok, so what do you say to yourself in those 5 seconds to make it a yes?&lt;br /&gt;
I am really struggling with a lot of things right now (exercise being an important one) and I just stay in my fat little cozy comfort zone.&lt;br /&gt;
What am I waiting for? What am I scared of? Looking good? Being healthy?&lt;br /&gt;
Well... Not being able to breathe is a big one. Being too hot or too cold, too. Getting a headache. Peeing my pants....&lt;br /&gt;
All of these are fixable though.&lt;br /&gt;
I need to go to the grocery store. I don&#39;t like it but I need my bp medication. And I&#39;m looking forward to buying mushrooms.&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;ve also been putting off going to Sam&#39;s club for a long time. Last time I went was July. I&#39;m slowly running out of everything. One thing is that ginormous container they sell of parmesan cheese. I love parmesan cheese. Yes, I am aware they sell parmesan cheese at the regular grocery store but if I buy it there, I may never get to Sam&#39;s to get the rest of the stuff I need.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have thought about it. I have realized the problems, and what I particularly dread. I imagine myself getting through those moments successfully. Over and over. I try to pump myself up. But then I decide I can live without parmesan cheese. And I don&#39;t go.&lt;br /&gt;
I say &quot;Wouldn&#39;t it be nice to have parmesan cheese?&quot;. But it&#39;s not enough to make me go.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I also need to have my daughter&#39;s junk car pulled out of here.&lt;br /&gt;
But I don&#39;t call.&lt;br /&gt;
I have a list of 20 reasons why.&lt;br /&gt;
I almost typed &quot;I&#39;m tired of being paralyzed&quot;, but it&#39;s not true. I&#39;m not tired of it. Or I would do something about it.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s not laziness. Laziness doesn&#39;t come with a hammering heart and sweaty hands, and bowels that liquify at the thought of making a phone call to a towing company.&lt;br /&gt;
...&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I just called. They can tow it today sometime.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So. Talking about it helped.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Now the gym.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
...Or not.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
One thing at a time.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/8331860727084218875/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/10/inertia.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/8331860727084218875'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/8331860727084218875'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/10/inertia.html' title='Inertia'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-809910767473462980</id><published>2018-05-26T13:19:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2018-05-26T13:19:39.916-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Minimalism vs My Superpower</title><content type='html'>&quot;You&#39;ll never really maximize your space until you get the right relationship with your stuff, which takes some soul-searching work.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&quot;Nothing new. Nothing that pees.&quot; - Valgardr&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Look around at all your stuff. How many of those items would you buy again?&lt;br /&gt;
... or would you really rather just have the money?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Look around at all the stuff you hang on to but don&#39;t use, and you don&#39;t even love it. Isn&#39;t it selfish to keep all these items you don&#39;t even use, when someone else could be making use of them?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Declutter and let go of the person you imagined you&#39;d be with these unused items.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Beaded curtains and a fondue pot won&#39;t make a bunch of hippie friends show up to play acoustic guitar on your back porch.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
All these unused craft supplies didn&#39;t magically turn you into an artist.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Those long skirts and birks don&#39;t make you any more likely to hang out at a coffee shop discussing literature.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Bookshelves full of DIY and home improvement projects don&#39;t add value to your house if you never actually do the projects.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Let go of the people you&#39;d hoped to become. Work on being the person you *are*, and being the best you.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I liked being able to &quot;save the day&quot;.&lt;br /&gt;
Do you have an extra sleeping bag/ tent/ lantern/ cooler?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Do you have orange knee-hi socks? I&#39;m going as Velma for Halloween.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Do you have an extra cat carrier?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Do you have a wok/ popcorn popper/ waffle iron?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Do you have *every novelty cake pan Wilton ever made* because my kid wants a *insert theme* birthday party.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Do have extra snowpants/ ice skates/ roller skates/ skis/ tennis racket/ karate sparring gear?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Do you have an extra floor lamp/ rug/ recliner/ comforter?&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am a superhero and my superpower is always having the very item you need. I have 3,000 sq ft of house plus two sheds *full* of stuff just waiting to be borrowed by a kid or friend.&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;I&#39;m retiring. They can get it themselves, or do without.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I have 2 dozen pool towels. We don&#39;t even go to the pool!&lt;br /&gt;
One pool towel per person might do.&lt;br /&gt;
I&#39;m just now realizing I don&#39;t need to bring enough extra towels so that everyone at the party who forgot their towel has a towel.&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivbG7plFQnfjzHdX8yPLPSoZrwsauFE_DhJFhII7hD88MgEaQJYe5LdwChz4mzljEXPruvWXa8BgWUkL0sCwbQ-C8DZQLFEuVENVnZLMJp-Lhi4xJUfw_biIbHLx3N5_lqsk97LE9JIR8/s1600/received_10215982594260860.jpeg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; data-original-height=&quot;1600&quot; data-original-width=&quot;964&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivbG7plFQnfjzHdX8yPLPSoZrwsauFE_DhJFhII7hD88MgEaQJYe5LdwChz4mzljEXPruvWXa8BgWUkL0sCwbQ-C8DZQLFEuVENVnZLMJp-Lhi4xJUfw_biIbHLx3N5_lqsk97LE9JIR8/s320/received_10215982594260860.jpeg&quot; width=&quot;192&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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Literally hundreds of movies I will never watch again.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
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&quot;But what if someone needs to borrow Rabbit Proof Fence?&quot;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
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&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7j5Kus9LuT-YOdWsQkaZRzfC3Yvo-_tDwYlZqmHPuZcFsGZylmhCkLh_-BQswTbsVRtK10Itlj3DFoMuxJw8VeCXC0g_UvrdktfR4msXioxUDZ9k6LLrnjkGI2cyy4qAmDEN6Aea_71k/s1600/received_10215982600941027.jpeg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; data-original-height=&quot;1600&quot; data-original-width=&quot;964&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7j5Kus9LuT-YOdWsQkaZRzfC3Yvo-_tDwYlZqmHPuZcFsGZylmhCkLh_-BQswTbsVRtK10Itlj3DFoMuxJw8VeCXC0g_UvrdktfR4msXioxUDZ9k6LLrnjkGI2cyy4qAmDEN6Aea_71k/s320/received_10215982600941027.jpeg&quot; width=&quot;192&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;
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Textbooks. Let&#39;s face it. My kids are quasi-morons and will never study molecular biology.&lt;/div&gt;
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&quot;But what if? What if they pick up this book and it sparks something in their brain and they go on to cure cancer?!&quot;&lt;/div&gt;
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I&#39;m realizing my kids are far, far more likely to *get* cancer than to cure it, lol.&lt;/div&gt;
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We are already doing what we&#39;d be doing. Readers read. Writers write. Bakers bake. Shoppers shop. We do what we would be doing. We keep the rest around for guilt.&lt;/div&gt;
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If you aren&#39;t ready for the bandaid method, I&#39;ve found it helps to box it all up and let it &#39;season&#39; a few months. If you find you really do need it, go get it. But if after a year (or whatever &quot;dooms day&quot; date you write on the box), you&#39;ve barely thought about the contents, get rid of it. It&#39;s so freeing.&lt;/div&gt;
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&lt;br /&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/809910767473462980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/05/minimalism-vs-my-superpower.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/809910767473462980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/809910767473462980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2018/05/minimalism-vs-my-superpower.html' title='Minimalism vs My Superpower'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivbG7plFQnfjzHdX8yPLPSoZrwsauFE_DhJFhII7hD88MgEaQJYe5LdwChz4mzljEXPruvWXa8BgWUkL0sCwbQ-C8DZQLFEuVENVnZLMJp-Lhi4xJUfw_biIbHLx3N5_lqsk97LE9JIR8/s72-c/received_10215982594260860.jpeg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-2367661386188953164</id><published>2016-02-22T22:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2016-02-22T22:27:25.683-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Were You?</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small; font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;When Kennedy was shot? November 22, 1963&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wasn&#39;t born yet. My own mother was only 14 years old.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;When Elvis died? &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class=&quot;tltext&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;August 16, 1977&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This I do remember. I was staying at my grandmother&#39;s, and she was trying to get me to try sour cream on my baked potato, but I was wary of any dairy product that actually admitted to being &#39;sour&#39;, since that was obviously a bad thing. While trying to keep rotten cream off my potato, it came on the tv that Elvis had died.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: &amp;quot;verdana&amp;quot;; font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;The eruption of Mount St Helens- May 18, 1980&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana;&quot;&gt;This&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: &amp;quot;verdana&amp;quot;; font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana;&quot;&gt;was the age when I really started noticing things on the news. Footage of the eruption, triggered by an earthquake, was caught on film, and was replayed for days. My science teacher discontinued our regular lesson and devoted all class time to the discussion of Mount St. Helens. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: &amp;quot;verdana&amp;quot;; font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the Iran Hostages came home? January 21, 1981&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;66 Americans were held hostage for 444 days- Nov 4 1979 to Jan 20, 1981.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My parents said that &quot;Ronald Reagan brought the hostages home.&quot;, since they were released minutes after he was sworn in. One of my teachers suggested that Reagan somehow bribed Iran to hold on to the hostages and not release them until he was sworn in so that it would look like he was responsible for their release. What I remember most- Yellow Ribbons galore!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small; font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;The Space Shuttle Challenger disaster- January 28, 1986&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana;&quot;&gt;It was a snow day, so I was home from school, and ironing my clothes. As I ironed, I watched the launch of the space &lt;span style=&quot;font-size: small;&quot;&gt;shuttle &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;mainly because there was a teacher, Christa McAuliffe, on board as part of a &quot;Teachers in Space&quot; program.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small;&quot;&gt; As I watched the space shuttle break apart, &quot;&lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;Obviously a major malfunction&lt;/span&gt;&quot;, th&lt;/span&gt;e iron was forgotten, and my shirt burned. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana;&quot;&gt;To this day, the smell of scorched fabric reminds me of the space shuttle &lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;Challenger&lt;/span&gt; disaster.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: &amp;quot;verdana&amp;quot;;&quot;&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br style=&quot;font-family: verdana;&quot; /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fall of the Berlin Wall- November 9, 1989&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;This was watched, beginning to end, on MTV. Yeah, MTV.&lt;br /&gt;Everything I knew about the Berlin Wall up to that point I&#39;d learned from the 1985 movie &lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;Gotcha!&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;Oklahoma City Bombing- &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;April 19, 1995&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;I saw this on the news, and what I most remember is a yellow Ryder truck, and a firefighter carrying a dying baby. What struck me most was a photo of a hand-painted sign attached to a chain-link fence that read, &quot;We Forgive You&quot; less than a week after the attack. I wasn&#39;t so ready to forgive, and wondered about people who were so eager to forgive such a terrible act.&lt;span style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Princess Diana died- August 31, 1997&lt;/span&gt;  &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small; font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small;&quot;&gt;I was in a restaurant with my in-laws in Weston, WV, and my mother-in-law leaned over the table and said, &quot;Did you hear that Princess Diana was in a car wreck?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;Thinking it was a joke, I leaned forward to hear the punchline, &quot;No, what happened?&quot;&lt;br /&gt;&quot;She died.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;Some punchline!&lt;br /&gt;Then someone left W.H. Auden&#39;s poem &quot;Funeral Blues&quot; (which I knew from the movie &lt;span style=&quot;font-style: italic;&quot;&gt;Four Weddings and a Funeral&lt;/span&gt;) on the impromptu memorial, and a newscaster read it on the air, and no one fact-checked to learn it was not original. Instead, they read it over and over, and lamented that they may never know the wonderful poet who had written it. Idiots, the lot of them.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: verdana; font-size: small; font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: &amp;quot;verdana&amp;quot;;&quot;&gt;Columbine High School Massacre- April 20, 1999&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: &amp;quot;verdana&amp;quot;;&quot;&gt;This one was the hardest to take. My regular tv show was interrupted to bring the breaking story of a couple kids with guns going into the school and shooting teachers and students.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;font-family: &amp;quot;verdana&amp;quot;;&quot;&gt;I watched the story in horror, and later when Ron got home, I left the kids with him and went to the grocery store as I had planned earlier. I didn&#39;t realize how much the story impacted me until I found myself standing in the soup aisle crying my eyes out.&lt;br /&gt;These days, people hardly take notice when there is yet another school shooting, but that first one hit us hard.&lt;/span&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/2367661386188953164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2016/02/where-were-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/2367661386188953164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/2367661386188953164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2016/02/where-were-you.html' title='Where Were You?'/><author><name>A Blunt Analysis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14682435870488997118</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='24' src='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_9g2caaQ2kgA/SXFxyDBswVI/AAAAAAAAAAo/akmERemnKMs/S220/Fall+2008+014.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-8490821062363221878</id><published>2015-08-19T11:18:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2015-08-19T11:18:19.904-04:00</updated><title type='text'>So Someome Told You to Eat a Cheeseburger?</title><content type='html'>The only time I&#39;m ever represented in womens&#39; magazines is as a &quot;before&quot; picture.&lt;br /&gt;
So I stopped reading them.&lt;br /&gt;
At the end of every clickbait article are ads &quot;lose belly fat by eating this one weird food&quot;, &quot;doctors hate her&quot;, and &quot;new skinny pill that works too well&quot;.&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;Tabloids are constantly screaming &quot;Celebrity beach bods! You won&#39;t believe who has let themselves go!&quot; and &quot;new diet gets you bikini ready in 6 weeks!&quot;.&lt;br /&gt;
In the snack section of any store, I see Weight Watchers, Skinny Cow, fat-free this and that.&lt;br /&gt;
Every stoplight has a billboard advertising a local liposuction clinic, with before and after pics.&lt;br /&gt;
Every restaurant commercial on tv shows men, women, children, black, white, Asian, young, old... but never fat people. &quot;When you&#39;re here, you&#39;re family. And everyone in our family is thin.&quot; No fast food ad features fat people. They would never want you to associate their food with getting/ being fat. If you believed their commercials, you&#39;d think only thin people go to McDonald&#39;s.&lt;br /&gt;
Only thin people buy and drive cars, trucks, and motorcycles.&lt;br /&gt;
Only thin people book vacations and cruises.&lt;br /&gt;
So I turned my tv off.&lt;br /&gt;
The message is literally everywhere I look, from my morning cereal box, to weight loss clinic ads on the front of the phone book, to the radio ads offering free &quot;get ready for summer!&quot; trial gym memberships, to songs about &quot;dimes, tens, hotties&quot;. Everywhere I look, every store I enter, every doctors office, every errand I run has some message that being fat is ugly, horrible, the worst you can be.&lt;br /&gt;
A thin woman recently complained that her sister-in-law tells her to &quot;eat a cheeseburger&quot;, so that means thin women get picked on, too!&lt;br /&gt;
Two people, same age, education, and experience interview for a job, one is thin, the other is fat. The thin person gets hired, every time- unless there is something seriously wrong with them. When asked, hiring managers answer that fat people seem lazy, out of control, disorganized, and unable to control their bodies, so it&#39;s a safer bet to go with the thinner applicant.&lt;br /&gt;
I once entered a clothing store that was popular with teens, to buy someone a gift card. I browsed a couple racks on my way to the register. The exceptionally thin sales girl approached me not to ask if I was finding everything ok, but to tell me, &quot;I&#39;m sorry, we don&#39;t carry extended sizes at this time.&quot; I replied that it was ok, I was shopping for someone else. She said, &quot;You might have better luck at Dress Barn. Some of their stuff is really cute!&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
Dress Barn. Yes, maybe I should get out of your hip skinny store before anyone sees me, and go buy my clothes from a store that is named for the farm structure that houses cows, horses, and other large animals.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
My guess is you probably said something about a cupcake you were about to eat going straight to your size 6 thighs. You were probably wearing short shorts, maybe a halter top, because you are within the magic size range that society &quot;allows&quot; to wear those type of cute clothes. (Society only allows us to wear capris, flowing blouses with lots of smocking, large floral prints, embroidery, and color-blocking, lest we find our well-meaning friends and family have signed us up for a What Not To Wear intervention.)&lt;br /&gt;
And that&#39;s why your SIL told you to eat a cheeseburger.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Unless you are in it, you really don&#39;t see it.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/8490821062363221878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2015/08/so-someome-told-you-to-eat-cheeseburger.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/8490821062363221878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/8490821062363221878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2015/08/so-someome-told-you-to-eat-cheeseburger.html' title='So Someome Told You to Eat a Cheeseburger?'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-8255846767222302276</id><published>2015-06-26T16:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2015-06-26T16:30:20.732-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Today&#39;s SCOTUS Ruling on Gay Marriage</title><content type='html'>I&#39;m seeing a lot of &quot;christian outrage&quot;, and people in my newsfeed saying the Supreme Court ruling is a &quot;sad day for christians&quot;, and a &quot;sad day for christian marriage&quot;, and &quot;evidence of the persecution of christians&quot;.&lt;br /&gt;
So... this ruling means that christians can no longer marry?&lt;br /&gt;
And already-married christians have to split up and get gay married now? Because the supreme court says?&lt;br /&gt;
They can no longer marry the person they love in the service/ house of worship they choose?&lt;br /&gt;
Instead, christian couples are being persecuted, forced apart, and allowed to only marry a person of the same sex?&lt;br /&gt;
If this is correct, I share your outrage.&lt;br /&gt;
No wonder christians are so upset by this ruling and feel it has everything to do with them.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Making gay marriage &quot;a thing&quot; doesn&#39;t make being gay &quot;a thing&quot;. Being gay is already a thing. Denying gays to marry won&#39;t make gay go away. All they will do is live together, in sin, if you will, and remain unmarried. The way straight people would do if being married was no longer an option. Falling in love would still happen, being together would still happen, sex would still happen, being a family would still happen, and even nasty break-ups would still happen. Marriage doesn&#39;t cause or prevent any of those.&lt;br /&gt;
Perhaps since some christian people don&#39;t allow couples to have sex or live together before marriage, they assume subconsciously that denying gay people the right to marry will prevent them from having sex or living together. And that&#39;s almost the same as making the gay go away, right? Because according to most of the &quot;love the sinner, hate the sin&quot; bullshit on my facebook wall, it&#39;s ok to &lt;i&gt;be &lt;/i&gt;gay, as long as you don&#39;t &lt;i&gt;act &lt;/i&gt;on it and have gay sex. Gay people are supposed to pray urgently every day for the strength to resist gay sex, gay fantasies, and masturbating with gay thoughts. After a while, I bet Jesus (or Mary, if she&#39;s your style) would start looking pretty hot, if they were all you were permitted to think about when you got horny.&lt;br /&gt;
The real christian outrage with marriage equality, is they lose that long-enjoyed ability to discriminate against gays without looking like assholes to the rest of society.&lt;br /&gt;
Your sons, daughters, grandsons, granddaughters have been afraid to come out to you, having grown up hearing every little remark, every time you made that noise, that sound of disgust when someone gay was on tv, or someone in the small town you live in &#39;turned out&#39; gay. They heard you clucking with the other hens your disapproval. They heard you grunt dismissively and call the paperboy a &#39;sissy&#39; and &#39;little faggot&#39; because you saw him doing something in your eyes that was not manly enough. They heard you preach about the &#39;end times&#39; being near because gays were being tolerated. They listened at the church you took them to about how god doesn&#39;t make mistakes and he loves everyone, except how he hates homosexuals, and they will go straight to hell for their ungodly lust. (What is godly lust, by the way? Is that like a priest fetish?)&lt;br /&gt;
Your sons and daughters won&#39;t come out to you. They are afraid to. And you &lt;i&gt;like it that way.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
What all this christian outrage against the marriage equality ruling really means is you are afraid a &lt;i&gt;legally gay &lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;couple will move in next door and there will nothing you can do about it, or your child might announce they are &lt;i&gt;legally gay &lt;/i&gt;&amp;nbsp;and registered at Target.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/8255846767222302276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2015/06/todays-scotus-ruling-on-gay-marriage.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/8255846767222302276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/8255846767222302276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2015/06/todays-scotus-ruling-on-gay-marriage.html' title='Today&#39;s SCOTUS Ruling on Gay Marriage'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-6594427459194159272</id><published>2015-06-04T12:27:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2015-06-04T12:27:02.760-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bridge</title><content type='html'>Teens use their mothers to have someone, something, constant to rail against. They do it because they know in their heart of hearts that you are a concrete wall of unconditional love.&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp;In their darkest times, their meanest times, their worst moods, love them anyway.&lt;br /&gt;
They are testing the sturdiness of the bridge they are about to use to go out into adulthood. They want to check it for cracks and flaws before all their weight, their heart, their trust, their world beliefs, their hopes and fears are dragged across it.&lt;br /&gt;
In these moments, love them anyway. Prove to them that the bridge is sound and trustworthy.&lt;br /&gt;
I have chanted &quot;Love them anyway, love them anyway&quot; while pacing, while refraining from choking them, while wanting to run away from home, while wanting to dish out exactly the treatment I&#39;ve just received... instead I choose to &quot;love them anyway&quot;.&lt;br /&gt;
It&#39;s hard, when they treat you like a thing, instead of a person with feelings. But we were always a thing, to them. An incubator, a milk delivery service, food maker, laundry washer, car driver, toy fixer, and so on. Their red, screaming faces didn&#39;t show love or even concern. They didn&#39;t care if you had the flu, or mastitis, or a broken foot, or a deadline at work.&lt;br /&gt;
&amp;nbsp; &amp;nbsp;&quot;Feed me, rock me, hold me, carry me, drive me, comfort me, save me, help me, nurse me back to health so that I may get on with the business of ignoring you.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
We spend 20 years trying to convince them we are, too, human with feelings and needs and dreams of our own. They don&#39;t buy it.&lt;br /&gt;
Later on, if you are lucky, they look back across the life miles they&#39;ve traveled and finally see you as you are. Human, and yes, flawed, but perfect for them. They see all the hell they put you through and they say &quot;Oh, god, I was horrible! Horrible! But she loved me anyway.&quot;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
So we brace ourselves, over and over, and show them we are strong enough to birth them into the world as babies, and birth them out into the world again as adults.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Is that all you&#39;ve got? Well, that ain&#39;t hardly nothin&#39;. Of course I&#39;m going to love you anyway!&lt;br /&gt;
Put it on me. Yup. I&#39;m strong enough. I&#39;ve got you.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/6594427459194159272/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2015/06/the-bridge.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/6594427459194159272'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/6594427459194159272'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2015/06/the-bridge.html' title='The Bridge'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-4255445907647353962</id><published>2015-02-10T20:03:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2015-02-10T20:03:18.318-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Rent-a-Lent</title><content type='html'>Lent is rapidly approaching (Feb 18- Apr 2), and a lot of you are wondering how you are going to give up the things you know you should give up this year. The idea of &quot;40 Days to a Better You&quot; sounds amazing, but you just don&#39;t have the time, or if we are being honest, the willpower.&lt;br /&gt;
That&#39;s where I come in! I&#39;m going to be doing Lent this year, and if I may say so myself, I&#39;m an excellent Lenter. As long as I&#39;m giving up my stuff, it&#39;s no trouble for me to give up yours, as well. By contracting with me for all your Lenten needs, you can have your King Cake and eat it, too.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Sugar- $50&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Red Meat- $40&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Wine- $40&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Liquor- $60&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Chocolate- $50&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Coffee- $50&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Smoking- $50&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Cursing/ Swearing- $50&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up a Sedentary Lifestyle- $60&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Yelling at Children- $50&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Road Rage- $40&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up TV- $60&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Comic Books- $40&lt;br /&gt;
Giving up Texting While Driving- $40&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This price includes all 40 Days of Lent. Go about your busy days with work and the kids, go ahead and enjoy that slice of pie, flip off that guy who is driving the speed limit in the passing lane, order that bacon cheeseburger, knowing your Lent obligations are covered. &amp;nbsp;I will fully and completely abstain from the food/ activity/ non-activity of your choice every day of Lent so you can arrive at Easter a cleaner, healthier, more enlightened you!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
This offer ends midnight Feb 16th. Don&#39;t risk being stuck ordering fish at the Steak House. Join now!</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/4255445907647353962/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2015/02/rent-lent.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/4255445907647353962'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/4255445907647353962'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2015/02/rent-lent.html' title='Rent-a-Lent'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-8111428245189265656</id><published>2014-12-08T13:58:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2014-12-08T13:58:30.076-05:00</updated><title type='text'>One Good Deed Went Unpunished</title><content type='html'>There&#39;s a mom in the LOL group who looks a lot like Elizabeth Montgomery. For those of you too young to know that name, I&#39;ll say Nicole Kidman. I&#39;ve never really talked to her, not even to tell her she looks like Nicole Kidman because 1) Thursdays are usually crazy busy, and 2) I&#39;m sure she&#39;s probably tired of hearing that she looks like Nicole Kidman. 3) Over the years I&#39;ve found that many people do not find attractive the celebrity they resemble. I&#39;ve seen folks who could double for Sandra Bullock, Mariah Carey, and Jennifer Lawrence, but when you tell them so, they say something like, &quot;I just really don&#39;t think she&#39;s that pretty.&quot;. I was once told I looked like Belinda Carlisle, and I smiled, because Belinda Carlisle is not bad at all, when the commenter said, &quot;No, not Belinda Carlisle today, the one from the 80&#39;s, when she was fat and on drugs.&quot; Oh. Well, that&#39;s cool, too, I guess. Anyway, surely she has lots of other talents aside from looking like Nicole Kidman, I just never have had a chance to ask. Well, last Thursday, someone left a bag containing a laptop, a journal of some sort (I didn&#39;t read it), and sheet music. Guess to whom it belonged? And when I met her in a parking lot to give her the bag, she thanked me with good chocolate. So, ONE good deed has not only gone unpunished, but was also appreciated and rewarded! And now I know that the Elizabeth Montgomery/ Nicole Kidman lookalike mom buys good chocolate.</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/8111428245189265656/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2014/12/one-good-deed-went-unpunished.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/8111428245189265656'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/8111428245189265656'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2014/12/one-good-deed-went-unpunished.html' title='One Good Deed Went Unpunished'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-1623387817651670303</id><published>2014-04-24T00:36:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2014-04-24T00:36:58.486-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Being in an Audience for Dummies</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;After watching the PopShop videos from tonight, it&#39;s obvious I need to teach a class.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;To the audience.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;Lesson 1. Yes, it&#39;s a restaurant. People are ordering and serving food. Unless you are ordering or serving food, sit down. I&#39;m not talking about the &quot;standing room only, can&#39;t find a seat&quot; folks. I mean the social butterflies who flit around the room, in front of every camera possible.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;Lesson 2. Just because it&#39;s not YOUR kid playing a song right now, doesn&#39;t mean you should talk loudly, over the music, next to the parent who is recording their child. Honestly, the band was playing Alien Ant Farm&#39;s &quot;Smooth Criminal&quot; and the vocalist cannot even be heard over the chatter.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;Lesson 3. Sit. The. Fuck. Down. Ok, so you come back to your table and see a person near you is making a video of a band. Do not turn to see who they happen to be filming and then *stand there* between the band and the videographer and watch the rest of the song! Sit down, take a knee, sit on your friend&#39;s lap, I don&#39;t care- Just, MOVE.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;Lesson 4. If you want to know about the food that the restaurant serves, do not approach a random audience member that is obviously filming the band currently playing and ask them &quot;Do you know if the peppers are hot?&quot;. Seriously, the dude filming was dressed like an undertaker; he&#39;s not the one cooking your food.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;(Raw face is just gross)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;You know who you are. I have you on video, and I&#39;m not afraid to post it on facebook and tag you.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/1623387817651670303/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2014/04/being-in-audience-for-dummies.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/1623387817651670303'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/1623387817651670303'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2014/04/being-in-audience-for-dummies.html' title='Being in an Audience for Dummies'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-3588902243995769460</id><published>2014-04-04T17:49:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2014-04-04T17:55:27.617-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodwill Hurting</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;Goodwill was a madhouse today- super crowded, and full of people who are crazy (sanity-challenged?). People fighting over dollar store knick knacks... People fighting over beat-up sneakers... People debating the pros and cons of buying a used sippy cup for a friend&#39;s baby that was &lt;i style=&quot;font-weight: bold;&quot;&gt;born yesterday&lt;/i&gt;.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;(Trust me, any woman who had a baby yesterday will not be thrilled when you race over to show her the used sippy cup you bought for her kid at Goodwill.)&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;There were twelve people in line ahead of me, so I had a lot of time to enjoy the crazy.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;The best one was a woman who ran into her old coworker and loudly related the tale of her recent emergency room visit for a migraine. She went in, you see, because she was throwing up so much that she couldn&#39;t take her pain-relieving medicine at home, so at the emergency room they gave her pain relief in the form of a suppository. She couldn&#39;t understand how the medicine would help her migraine from &quot;all the way down there&quot;. She said when she takes a pill for her migraine, that makes sense, because she is putting the pill &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;in&amp;nbsp;&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;her head... But a suppository would only be good for a pain in her butt.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/3588902243995769460/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2014/04/goodwill-hurting.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/3588902243995769460'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/3588902243995769460'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2014/04/goodwill-hurting.html' title='Goodwill Hurting'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-5313076700240172752</id><published>2014-03-24T17:11:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2014-03-24T17:11:46.198-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Nailed It!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: -webkit-auto;&quot;&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: left;&quot;&gt;It started with vanilla creme-filled cupcakes with rootbeer flavored icing. Rootbeer Float cupcakes! It sounded like a good idea.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: left;&quot;&gt;No?&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: left;&quot;&gt;Okay, it sounded like an unusual idea. I made them. They looked great.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFnO9ghc-LQ7rXlT7gM3fBGH-ev_FynVrJag5Dk_oNTxf8I3cBlzlSwwmwBudwmHw0sgG3a1HstjhRjdf2RyyCIy8F4RZBpOU2rx2uwdov-NcergJm0M0-UTt1t_zpK-DMeefmTIAulk/s1600/cupcakes.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFnO9ghc-LQ7rXlT7gM3fBGH-ev_FynVrJag5Dk_oNTxf8I3cBlzlSwwmwBudwmHw0sgG3a1HstjhRjdf2RyyCIy8F4RZBpOU2rx2uwdov-NcergJm0M0-UTt1t_zpK-DMeefmTIAulk/s1600/cupcakes.jpg&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;239&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: left;&quot;&gt;I tried one. They were horrible. Way too sweet and rootbeery.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: left;&quot;&gt;I switched gears. Spice cake cupcakes, with vanilla creme filling, and cream cheese frosting. I even got out my cute cupcake wrappers by Paula Deen that say &quot;A Balanced Diet is One Cupcake in Each Hand&quot;.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: left;&quot;&gt;If one followed the recipe, they were supposed to look like this:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFbx6krp8UfD267EBQs0qvD4oVxGjPZV0znVzfJIOIq_8oLN72Wb-kQOGWqN7cSV_1oXHV-CJJACqk3JEYhi1Kk1WUwmBGptH_-FH_jL7IwPRzWcwHCt816CQacDYM6s2w294NQajdRQ/s1600/cupcakes+011.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNFbx6krp8UfD267EBQs0qvD4oVxGjPZV0znVzfJIOIq_8oLN72Wb-kQOGWqN7cSV_1oXHV-CJJACqk3JEYhi1Kk1WUwmBGptH_-FH_jL7IwPRzWcwHCt816CQacDYM6s2w294NQajdRQ/s1600/cupcakes+011.jpg&quot; height=&quot;261&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;Three Easy Steps to &quot;Yum!&quot;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
Halfway into the baking time, everything went South (I blame the Paula Deen cupcake wrappers).&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUb2YqEHGZTL075rRMapS_r3BwAENhO9lZnI1cidDap4C3_l1_rHdkApnGDbpPfpykK4LtYFN6LX8YIdcUGPDkMzGP6s5jD4daVZ4RrMabFOdkbijGmBPIntqx38SG8huTQP_lqkD2GM/s1600/cupcakes+009.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPUb2YqEHGZTL075rRMapS_r3BwAENhO9lZnI1cidDap4C3_l1_rHdkApnGDbpPfpykK4LtYFN6LX8YIdcUGPDkMzGP6s5jD4daVZ4RrMabFOdkbijGmBPIntqx38SG8huTQP_lqkD2GM/s1600/cupcakes+009.jpg&quot; height=&quot;239&quot; width=&quot;320&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;May Day!! May Day!!&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: -webkit-auto;&quot;&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: left;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); text-align: left;&quot;&gt;All the smoke alarms were all going off (if one goes off, they all go off, because they are hardwired that way) and &quot;someone&quot; *coughMrHofercough* thought he was helping me save on heating this winter by closing the storm window in the kitchen and I&#39;m too short to raise it til it clicks, so it slammed back down on my finger and I had to go get the step stool to *open a fucking window*, and the alarms are still going off and the dogs are barking, and all the filling leaked out onto the oven floor and was just burning like crazy, and it also leaked down between the paper and the pan and burnt on there, so I couldn&#39;t even get them out of the pan!!!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqu_s1_UphMuRAeA02KY_Pgv_UYOXjb-nkIIEp_QNvmRzPeErm5yNU2FZWtIP0Kp_26bATVCqAxPJS-34WVYFbnJh_IXMk80OvtqRReSkd3ct_MfXLEbYCGEImZ2qxGKIrP77OhjtQtdA/s1600/cupcakes+010.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqu_s1_UphMuRAeA02KY_Pgv_UYOXjb-nkIIEp_QNvmRzPeErm5yNU2FZWtIP0Kp_26bATVCqAxPJS-34WVYFbnJh_IXMk80OvtqRReSkd3ct_MfXLEbYCGEImZ2qxGKIrP77OhjtQtdA/s1600/cupcakes+010.jpg&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;239&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;Nailed it!&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
I was so mad! This pan is part of a cupcake transportation system; a special lid locks onto it that allows one to carry the cupcakes safely to their destination. How can I show up with these?!&amp;nbsp;&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: -webkit-auto;&quot;&gt;
&quot;Fuck you, Paula Deen! Fuck you!&quot; (I know this is not Paula Deen&#39;s fault. I didn&#39;t say it was her &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;fault&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt;; I said I was going to &lt;b&gt;&lt;i&gt;blame&lt;/i&gt;&lt;/b&gt; her.)&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: -webkit-auto;&quot;&gt;
After cooling for a minute (me and the cupcakes), I discovered that shit peeled right off.&lt;/div&gt;
&lt;div style=&quot;text-align: -webkit-auto;&quot;&gt;
&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqcfR8o1gRlZ7EZ2RIY_aaIJoArw1Ogqo3AdhgnaMaeAK357oQnHg3vNy6iif77BrQ8KNrIXOgnYV4yhzBiXuCcr5nzvTErDPWumGV4ywrmG6s1BjXLRxtDa1JNkAd2-NdfxDeWC9Moc/s1600/cupcakes+012.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiqcfR8o1gRlZ7EZ2RIY_aaIJoArw1Ogqo3AdhgnaMaeAK357oQnHg3vNy6iif77BrQ8KNrIXOgnYV4yhzBiXuCcr5nzvTErDPWumGV4ywrmG6s1BjXLRxtDa1JNkAd2-NdfxDeWC9Moc/s1600/cupcakes+012.jpg&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;239&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;And it was delicious!&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
I decided to try again. I pried these cupcakes out the pan, and grabbed more cupcake wrappers. Actual Wilton wrappers, this time. I&#39;m done fooling around!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhdAoezYrhSrdoXHuOxplGGgt_S6aeJzYK2BQSlh-RqOqL1zfNtfUSIdSJJe6CpuQZh-hmhVv3wAZY07mraW_mM1YBR3h1eSPHkJxnRqNK7wDcgVQJ9mUsi3EO3ZflernK1kUDpTlXa4/s1600/cupcakes+013.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvhdAoezYrhSrdoXHuOxplGGgt_S6aeJzYK2BQSlh-RqOqL1zfNtfUSIdSJJe6CpuQZh-hmhVv3wAZY07mraW_mM1YBR3h1eSPHkJxnRqNK7wDcgVQJ9mUsi3EO3ZflernK1kUDpTlXa4/s1600/cupcakes+013.jpg&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;240&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;You can tell shit just got real- I&#39;m wearing my old, stained &quot;I childproofed my house, but they still get in&quot; apron.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
I am a domestic goddess- I can do this. They are only cupcakes. Cupcakes cannot break me. My son will turn 13 today and by god, there &lt;i&gt;&lt;b&gt;will &lt;/b&gt;&lt;/i&gt;be cupcakes!&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;table align=&quot;center&quot; cellpadding=&quot;0&quot; cellspacing=&quot;0&quot; class=&quot;tr-caption-container&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwszxayzP8gvGf0bzA_HHmrb9fRz7GyfMDgo4F7Ux-aFVJdfXlp3T-2u4Msa9iKtpRI2PPGpu_Rviq6clvEHrhDaYeFocyBZQiQEsuy8O_7wDk-8m-K9I2EVoaKHO5lP7bBGB84Iof3Q/s1600/cupcakes+016.jpg&quot; imageanchor=&quot;1&quot; style=&quot;margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;&quot;&gt;&lt;img border=&quot;0&quot; src=&quot;https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbwszxayzP8gvGf0bzA_HHmrb9fRz7GyfMDgo4F7Ux-aFVJdfXlp3T-2u4Msa9iKtpRI2PPGpu_Rviq6clvEHrhDaYeFocyBZQiQEsuy8O_7wDk-8m-K9I2EVoaKHO5lP7bBGB84Iof3Q/s1600/cupcakes+016.jpg&quot; height=&quot;320&quot; width=&quot;239&quot; /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td class=&quot;tr-caption&quot; style=&quot;text-align: center;&quot;&gt;These are from an old family recipe- &quot;Spice Cake with Seagull Poop Exploding Forth&quot;.&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;
&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;
I can&#39;t. I need to be there in an hour and I haven&#39;t the faintest clue what to do, here. Frost them with cream cheese frosting, act like everything is normal, and then laugh hysterically when people try to eat them?&lt;br /&gt;
People will simply have a choice between Astoundingly Foul Rootbeer Cupcakes, Mangled Spice Cake Cupcakes, and Exploding Bird-Poo Cupcakes.&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;br /&gt;
Nailed It!&lt;/div&gt;
</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/5313076700240172752/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2014/03/nailed-it.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/5313076700240172752'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/5313076700240172752'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2014/03/nailed-it.html' title='Nailed It!'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFnO9ghc-LQ7rXlT7gM3fBGH-ev_FynVrJag5Dk_oNTxf8I3cBlzlSwwmwBudwmHw0sgG3a1HstjhRjdf2RyyCIy8F4RZBpOU2rx2uwdov-NcergJm0M0-UTt1t_zpK-DMeefmTIAulk/s72-c/cupcakes.jpg" height="72" width="72"/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8675515648658538788.post-7887265716307415462</id><published>2014-03-18T19:15:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2014-03-18T19:15:49.278-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Is There a Vaccine Against Fear Mongering?</title><content type='html'>&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span id=&quot;goog_1550817265&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span id=&quot;goog_1550817266&quot;&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a href=&quot;http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/03/13/thanks-anti-vaxxers-you-just-brought-back-measles-in-nyc.html&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;This &quot;article&quot;&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;is being passed around Facebook. This is not journalism. This is name-calling and fear-mongering.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;The measles vaccine has been in use for 50 years. I found this in the &lt;a href=&quot;http://m.jid.oxfordjournals.org/content/189/Supplement_1/S4.long&quot; target=&quot;_blank&quot;&gt;Journal of Infectious Diseases&lt;/a&gt;&amp;nbsp;:&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;&quot;In the United States, mortality from measles decreased from 25 per 1000 reported cases in 1912 to 1 per 1000 reported cases in 1962. In New York State, measles mortality decreased by &amp;gt;15-fold long before the introduction of measles vaccination.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;...&quot;During the past 13 years in the United States, the case-fatality rate has averaged 3 per 1000 reported measles cases. This increase is most likely due to more complete reporting of measles as a cause of death, HIV infections, and a *higher proportion of cases among adults*. [emphasis mine] &amp;nbsp;Annual US measles deaths have declined from 408 in 1962 to 0 from 1993-present.&quot;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;The fact is, even with the boosters, the vaccines wear off in adulthood. I am living proof of this. This leaves adults at risk for a very serious illness that would have been mild, if contracted as a child. Re-vaccinating these adults does not work- they often will not &quot;cross-over&quot;.&amp;nbsp;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;
&lt;span style=&quot;background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0);&quot;&gt;By vaccinating children against what are usually mild diseases when contracted as children, we are setting the adult population up for a world of hurt 25 years down the road. The kids that were intentionally not vaccinated in this &quot;outbreak&quot; will have lifelong immunity.&lt;/span&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/feeds/7887265716307415462/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2014/03/is-there-vaccine-against-fear-mongering.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/7887265716307415462'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8675515648658538788/posts/default/7887265716307415462'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://abluntanalysis.blogspot.com/2014/03/is-there-vaccine-against-fear-mongering.html' title='Is There a Vaccine Against Fear Mongering?'/><author><name>Lis</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/13799941555021667136</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='33' height='26' src='//blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmtB4JyTz_o_A-gisKZbnUDAXSpb4mZhUKqMaTjQ39wP9HORFPRrkP7PQSHlk8bjK5aB3U3OJ5xpK5xCwxT-LIqQhZ0g9ifQPiGBl4HHVluHGpQ5y9yTU7Q17Hf9srksk/s220/IMG04391-20120126-1458.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>