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<?xml-stylesheet type="text/xsl" media="screen" href="/~d/styles/atom10full.xsl"?><?xml-stylesheet type="text/css" media="screen" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/~d/styles/itemcontent.css"?><feed xmlns="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:openSearch="http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearch/1.1/" xmlns:georss="http://www.georss.org/georss" xmlns:gd="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005" gd:etag="W/&quot;CUIGR347fCp7ImA9WxNUF0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279</id><updated>2009-11-09T00:12:06.004-05:00</updated><title>The True Urban Queen</title><subtitle type="html">The life of Sharon Rainey.
A woman who has learned to embrace her past and reach for her future.</subtitle><link rel="http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/" /><link rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/" /><link rel="next" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25&amp;redirect=false&amp;v=2" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version="7.00" uri="http://www.blogger.com">Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>314</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><link rel="self" href="http://feeds.feedburner.com/TheTrueUrbanQueen" type="application/atom+xml" /><atom10:link xmlns:atom10="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" rel="hub" href="http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com" /><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0EBR3k6cSp7ImA9WxNUF08.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-8469704208924000875</id><published>2009-11-08T19:18:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T20:20:56.719-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-08T20:20:56.719-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="It Kills Me by Melanie Fiona" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Melanie Fiona" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Songs that make you think" /><title>It's Killing Me</title><content type="html">&lt;object width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/wfVfFy-I0z0&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x402061&amp;amp;color2=0x9461ca"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/wfVfFy-I0z0&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1&amp;amp;color1=0x402061&amp;amp;color2=0x9461ca" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;This song has been playing constantly in my house for days now. Oh, I give it a break and let something else play, but right now this song has my mind, body, and soul. As-a-matter-of-fact, as I type this, it has been playing on repeat and has played at least twelve times (I know my neighbors are thinking of forming a lynch mob).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It is not because I am down-hearted because my man has cheated on me, as that is what the song is about. No, it is because of understanding, I feel when listening to the lyrics and the music. . . . it fills me with sentiment. The beat stirs my mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Laying in the dark, so many thoughts flood my mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;"I know you messing around, but who the hell else is gonna hold me down"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why is my friend staying with a man who is doing this exact thing to her. Even when the girl showed up at the house to tell her that, him and her were still together. Even after she told me she feels more like his room mate then lover. There is no trust. He went out of town . .  with who. That she hates him, yet she loves him. Who else does she have? What about the children?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;"A part of me wants to leave, but the other side still believes"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh my goodness, why can I understand this song so well? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If he calls me one more name. If he points out one more flaw. If he makes me feel inadequate one more time. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why can't he love me the way I imagine I should be loved. Maybe I have watched to many movies. Maybe I need to quit believing in those damn fairytale endings. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330099;"&gt;"And it kills me to know how much I really love you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330099;"&gt;So much I wanna ooh hoo  ohh to you hoo hoo"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330099;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I adore that man. I love him so much. I just want him to wrap me up in his arms and I'll know things will work out. His strong, strong, strong arms. Lay my head on his chest. Touch his warm skin. Massage his muscles. Rub his back. Open my thighs . . .&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;"I don't need to be on my own&lt;br /&gt;But I love this man&lt;br /&gt;But some things I just  can't stand ohhhh"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Why is it every time I give him another piece of my heart . . . he reacts as if it is no big deal? Doesn't he understand what I am handing to him? How much damage he could cause to me? The state of mind he has me in? No, he is f*cking oblivious to it. Or maybe he could just care less.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;"To think it's gonna work this time Oohh a part of me wants to leave but the  other half still believes"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Girl, quit over reacting! You are so sensitive sometimes. He didn't mean anything. So, what if he talked down to you yesterday. At least he only wants you. I think?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330099;"&gt;"And it kills me to know how much I really love you&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330099;"&gt;So much I wanna ooh hoo ohh to you hoo hoo"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330099;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-8469704208924000875?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/8469704208924000875/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=8469704208924000875&amp;isPopup=true" title="1 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/8469704208924000875?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/8469704208924000875?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/11/its-killing-me.html" title="It's Killing Me" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">1</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0AFRHk4fCp7ImA9WxNUE00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-3321323240171108551</id><published>2009-11-03T22:14:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-03T22:35:15.734-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-03T22:35:15.734-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="organizing my house life and work" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Cleaning House" /><title>Organization</title><content type="html">At this moment, even as I type this, my life and everything around me is very disorganized. &lt;div&gt;My room, that room, this room, my desk, my computer, my files, my bookshelf, my purse, my papers, my thoughts. . . the list goes on. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I am taking this weekend to organize everything. Top to bottom and all in between. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Too bad , that isn't for four more days.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So for the next four days I am officially trifling.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am hoping this cleaning and organizing will help me get back on the path to . . . being on top of things. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A clean house is a clean mind.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;At this moment, I am making little notes and lists of thing to pay particular attention to. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Besides, cleaning and organizing . . .I am making myself a calender to live/work by. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have so much work in front of me. . .and there are deadlines on some of these and those with no deadline soon still need completed. There is research, writing, cleaning, blogging . . . I am hoping a schedule will help take away the overwhelmed feelings.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; *******&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;On another note. . . &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I need a good survey or activity to do.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-3321323240171108551?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/3321323240171108551/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=3321323240171108551&amp;isPopup=true" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/3321323240171108551?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/3321323240171108551?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/11/organization.html" title="Organization" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">3</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkUDQ3s4fip7ImA9WxNUEEQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-6218028274938199051</id><published>2009-11-01T12:13:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T12:57:52.536-05:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-11-01T12:57:52.536-05:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Phone sex" /><title>Come and talk to me</title><content type="html">How easy is it for you to talk dirty to someone?&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I mean over the phone. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Is it easy for you to tell someone want you want them to do to you or want you would like to do to them?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Personally, I get shy and tongue tied. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How do I overcome it?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-6218028274938199051?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/6218028274938199051/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=6218028274938199051&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/6218028274938199051?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/6218028274938199051?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/11/come-and-talk-to-me.html" title="Come and talk to me" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0UHR308fip7ImA9WxNVFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-947485532665331773</id><published>2009-10-26T10:38:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-26T16:33:56.376-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-26T16:33:56.376-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Random thoughts from my head" /><title>Anything</title><content type="html">* Ohhh I'm down wit you baby it gets so hard for me to focus I'll say a prayer so  that nothin happens to ya waiting on your phone call saying baby wont you come  back to me (ohh ohh) and when you get back I cant wait to hug and kiss ya cant  wait to demonstrate just how much I miss you you take my breath away (you take  my breath away)... all I ever think about is you (Chrisette Michelle)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Y'all just don't understand . . . those lines right there are some of my favorites from a song. And the emotion she uses when singing them . . . are so perfect for how I feel. just so perfect.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The way I feel . . .I have never felt before.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#660000;"&gt;* I want to create an app. Either for MySpace of Facebook. Actually, both. I have the idea and details worked out just need to learn the technical aspects.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#660000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;* I have a thing for sunflower seeds. . . I buy the big bags of them and while I watch T.V. or type or read . . .I eat them. I keep a bag or Styrofoam cup handy to spit the shells in. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;Do Not judge me!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* I really want a home cooked meal of . . .greens, sweet potatoes, baked mac and cheese . . . I just need a chef to cook for me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I hit the big times that is one of the first things I want to get . . .a personal chef.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#003300;"&gt;* Lastly . . .&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#003300;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#003300;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;Naomi  is utterly and fantastically amazing beautiful:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:georgia;color:#003300;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style="font-family:georgia;color:#003300;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-size:large;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#003300;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SuYG_993y4I/AAAAAAAAAzk/8cWPz09KNNE/s1600-h/1g.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 309px; height: 400px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SuYG_993y4I/AAAAAAAAAzk/8cWPz09KNNE/s400/1g.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5397008899485715330" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-947485532665331773?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/947485532665331773/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=947485532665331773&amp;isPopup=true" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/947485532665331773?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/947485532665331773?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/10/anything.html" title="Anything" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SuYG_993y4I/AAAAAAAAAzk/8cWPz09KNNE/s72-c/1g.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">9</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DEUCQngzeSp7ImA9WxNVEks.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-1714666343936774705</id><published>2009-10-22T21:49:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T22:51:03.681-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-22T22:51:03.681-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="downloads and my computer" /><title>Downloading talk</title><content type="html">I had to take the time to clean out some of my computer files. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The things I do :)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here I am deleting stories I have written . . only to find I have saved them in four different files. And let me tell you . . .if I have stories . . saved all willy nilly everywhere. . .guess what else there are . . pictures.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I found pictures (and a video or two) I thought I deleted four months ago. I was amazed and mortified, yet I found it very funny.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;A few months ago when my laptop crashed. . my partner asked me if the geek squad looked at me different when I showed up to pick up the laptop. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They didn't . . .I assured him that all was lost and no one seen a thing.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You would think I would learn.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;These new files I am blogging about are ones from after the crash. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;******************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have to quit downloading so many things. I noticed I have downloaded so many plugins for my other spot. . .and I don't even use half of them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then there is this site where someone told me I could get a free program I wanted. It is like the music file sharing places. . .why did I even entertain the thought. That's all I need  . . . to download a computer program trying to avoid the 200 price on the software at the store and end up paying hundreds more for a new laptop thanks to the bug-a-boo virus I got from the internet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I do not use those file sharing programs . . .even for music.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. I am scared of the police showing up at my door with a summons to come to court . . .where I will be charge $23,000 dollars for downloading three songs. Yes, I lawfully download from either: Itunes or Amazon and pay my .99 to 1.29 fee. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. I don't want to download, what I think is a song, and get a virus. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, my daughter . . has the downloading music bug. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"It's only 99 cents." she tells me (knowing they are .99 to 1.29 + tax)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;"Okay, you may download a few."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then, she downloads 30 songs. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: "Little girl, that just cost me 40 dollars. I suggest you get away from me."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She listens to everything . . . oldies, R&amp;amp;B, rap, reggaeton, Latina, country, rock . . . she hears a new song she wants everyday.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have her on no downloads lock down. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-1714666343936774705?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/1714666343936774705/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=1714666343936774705&amp;isPopup=true" title="4 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/1714666343936774705?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/1714666343936774705?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/10/downloading-talk.html" title="Downloading talk" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">4</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04MQH0ycCp7ImA9WxNVEEg.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-1107945874785681253</id><published>2009-10-20T11:20:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-20T13:33:01.398-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-20T13:33:01.398-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="random crushes" /><title>Random Thoughts and Crushes</title><content type="html">Sorry, I haven't been posting here. I have been trying to work on a few projects and this blog always gets put aside.&lt;br /&gt;I am sure you understand and get it so moving on . . .&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lately, I have participated in a few conversations, post comments, and twitter topics on relationships and crushes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;* Recently there was a twitter conversation by females on their Celebrity girl crushes.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;I tried to think of one and still am trying to think of one. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;Y'all know the one celebrity female . . I find myself staring at the television watching in awe.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;One thing that I, I do find sexy is hot heels. So, I am going with Amerie . . . based on her high heels and fashion choices.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000066;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="400" height="255" id="uvp_fop" allowfullscreen="true"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://d.yimg.com/m/up/fop/embedflv/swf/fop.swf"&gt;&lt;param name="flashVars" value="id=v217245303&amp;amp;eID=1301797&amp;amp;lang=us&amp;amp;enableFullScreen=0&amp;amp;shareEnable=1"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed height="255" width="400" id="uvp_fop" allowfullscreen="true" src="http://d.yimg.com/m/up/fop/embedflv/swf/fop.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="id=v217245303&amp;amp;eID=1301797&amp;amp;lang=us&amp;amp;ympsc=4195329&amp;amp;enableFullScreen=1&amp;amp;shareEnable=1"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="400" height="255" id="uvp_fop" allowfullscreen="true"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://d.yimg.com/m/up/fop/embedflv/swf/fop.swf"&gt;&lt;param name="flashVars" value="id=v18173378&amp;amp;eID=1301797&amp;amp;lang=us&amp;amp;enableFullScreen=0&amp;amp;shareEnable=1"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed height="255" width="400" id="uvp_fop" allowfullscreen="true" src="http://d.yimg.com/m/up/fop/embedflv/swf/fop.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" flashvars="id=v18173378&amp;amp;eID=1301797&amp;amp;lang=us&amp;amp;ympsc=4195329&amp;amp;enableFullScreen=1&amp;amp;shareEnable=1"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She isn't moving me in a I want to do her type way but in a she looks hot type of way.&lt;br /&gt;If she had darker skin . . .I might feel different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330033;"&gt;* Then, there was the topic on a crush on a member of another race:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330033;"&gt;I already wrote this before and here it is again&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330033;"&gt;Johnny Depp&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/St3wGFODziI/AAAAAAAAAy8/fWGkMb8mVM4/s1600-h/johnny_depp.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/St3wGFODziI/AAAAAAAAAy8/fWGkMb8mVM4/s320/johnny_depp.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394731915930750498" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330033;"&gt;It's a combination of the quirky roles he plays and his good looks.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#003300;"&gt;* There was a topic on rules of a relationship . . . the ironic thing about that is. . .half the people giving advice were single. If they know so much about relationships, why are they single? or are they single because they know what a real relationship is about and won't settle?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#003300;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#003300;"&gt;I didn't give any advice. . .because I am still trying to figure love out myself.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#003300;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#003300;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#330033;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-1107945874785681253?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/1107945874785681253/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=1107945874785681253&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/1107945874785681253?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/1107945874785681253?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/10/random-thoughts-and-crushes.html" title="Random Thoughts and Crushes" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/St3wGFODziI/AAAAAAAAAy8/fWGkMb8mVM4/s72-c/johnny_depp.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">8</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0EERXsyfCp7ImA9WxNXGEU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-516245672467563280</id><published>2009-10-06T21:51:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-06T22:13:24.594-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-06T22:13:24.594-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="What happens in . . .stays in. . . ." /><title>Just to say hey</title><content type="html">*I am not sure about NCIS LA with Chris O'Donnell and LL Cool J. I have watched for three weeks now, but still don't feel the love I have for the original NCIS. I loved that show from day one. &lt;br /&gt;Well, love is a strong word. I will say really like and enjoy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*The original CSI is still my favorite and Lawrence is doing a wonderful job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I have numerous other projects I am suppose to be working on. Which is another reason why I blog infrequently. I feel guilty as if I should be working on those things and not spending a few moments blogging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Sorry, if I haven't been leaving comments. I have been reading all th blogs on my sidebar every time I see an update, but my comments have been sparse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Yes, daily I sign in and check the blog just don't blog or comment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I have been using Google chrome so I have numerous tabs open at one given time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* this post is boring but right now my mind is on packing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* I used the word but like thirty times. I must remove that word from my mind.&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;* However this is a long weekend for me and I will be away. . . til Monday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Details of where and with who when I return.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clue: Bright lights, casino chips, and sin.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then back to my old posting self.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-516245672467563280?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/516245672467563280/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=516245672467563280&amp;isPopup=true" title="7 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/516245672467563280?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/516245672467563280?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/10/just-to-say-hey.html" title="Just to say hey" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">7</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A04BQX4zfyp7ImA9WxNXF00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-2863275675185941535</id><published>2009-10-04T21:42:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-04T22:32:30.087-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-10-04T22:32:30.087-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Girl day out" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="shopping" /><title>Sunday with Daughter</title><content type="html">*I think I need to write down the topics I want to blog about. I have so much on my mind I can't remember what I thought of two days ago. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as you can see the blog is the first thing I neglect. It's been over a week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*I spent today. . .Sunday with my daughter, because my son was with their father, for a guys only gathering. Anyhoo, we went shopping, because I have no money and want to give the little I got away. &lt;br /&gt;Actually, I am still getting my children fall and winter clothing. So, I took her to get a few things. Well, let me tell y'all both my children got their mother in them, they can spend some money. &lt;br /&gt;me: look for what you need. .. .a shirt, some pants, socks  . . .etc.&lt;br /&gt;her: *grabs lotion  . .. a ring. . .&lt;br /&gt;me: you don't need those.&lt;br /&gt;her: yes I do and I'll get clothes too.&lt;br /&gt;me: not on my money because I don't got it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looks at me like that is only my problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SMH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* We get to the bus stop. It was so cold. I had to go the bathroom, but didn't want to move because I feared I miss the bus (which we waited for for a half hour) Anyway, like always my children love to ask me when I will get a license. &lt;br /&gt;My daughter and I were standing there when she proceeds to tell me she will be driving before me. &lt;br /&gt;I tell her that is wonderful and I would make sure she gets lessons.&lt;br /&gt;She says you just want me to drive you around. &lt;br /&gt;Of course I say&lt;br /&gt;and she replies. . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That my son got shot gun so I have to sit in the back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SMH&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took the ring back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;only joking she got to keep it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-2863275675185941535?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/2863275675185941535/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=2863275675185941535&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/2863275675185941535?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/2863275675185941535?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/10/sunday-with-daughter.html" title="Sunday with Daughter" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUcARH08fip7ImA9WxNQF0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-2979291897370241539</id><published>2009-09-24T08:54:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-24T08:57:25.376-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-24T08:57:25.376-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="It's back" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="CSI season 10" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="CSI" /><title>New Season</title><content type="html">I am so EXCITED . . . my show is back and this commercial is so tight. I clap my hands every time. . .yes I am that excited. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/FJWzdARH0dw&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FJWzdARH0dw&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="560" height="340"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-2979291897370241539?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/2979291897370241539/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=2979291897370241539&amp;isPopup=true" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/2979291897370241539?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/2979291897370241539?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/09/new-season.html" title="New Season" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">3</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CE8HRnkyeCp7ImA9WxNQF0w.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-3746751038622638351</id><published>2009-09-23T09:06:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-23T09:33:57.790-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-23T09:33:57.790-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Making changes and facing fears" /><title>Friady Cat</title><content type="html">Is that even how you spell fraidy cat?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You know like when you were a child and your friends wanted you to do something, then taunted you with the words scaredy cat or friady cat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Whatever!! To those you going is this girl crazy? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cause yes I am! HAHAHAHA&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been thinking about the changes I really MUST make in my life, however I think it takes so long for me to do so, because I get scared. Even if I know the eventually it will be best for me in the long run. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I say eventually because . . some of the changes may hurt at first.&lt;br /&gt;Like the people to hold on to and those to let go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are 3 obstacles to my change . .and they are all because of how me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. scared to let go . . . of people or the old thoughts even if they are hurting me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. scared of change . . . I am so use to the way things are and what if the changes make them worse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. uncertain how to make change. . .wish someone could just tell me how to do the things I want without me having to figure it out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't worry I won't let these thoughts hinder me. I know I must move forward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here was a conversation I had with me self. . . yes I talk to myself and since I am crazy I do answer. The only question is when will I be in public doing it. You know on the bus having a whole conversation with myself and everyone is watching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Life is a bitch"&lt;br /&gt;"Yeah well you better check her ass and make her your whore."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-3746751038622638351?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/3746751038622638351/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=3746751038622638351&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/3746751038622638351?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/3746751038622638351?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/09/friady-cat.html" title="Friady Cat" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QBSHY6fCp7ImA9WxNQFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-8370825264721820670</id><published>2009-09-22T06:52:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-22T07:35:59.814-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-22T07:35:59.814-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Dating and men with children" /><title>It's a New Day . . .got kids?</title><content type="html">I got that Black Eye Peas song floating around in my head. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess that is a good thing (the vibe of the song) even if I am not a fan of the song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;********************&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was watching, The Real Housewives of Atlanta (like many of you. .don't pretend), it is a guilty pleasure, and Sheree was talking to her trainer and the subject of dating and men with children. While, I don't usually agree with Sheree on some things, I was with her on this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nobody wants to date a man with four baby mommas and six toddlers. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wait  . . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are some women who don't seem to mind but those are the ones who become baby momma five and find they-self on Maury with a man denying paternity. And don't let him be. . .not the father, cause girl, I will laugh. .. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I digress&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, Sheree was right. Who wants that? A man with many baby mommas and very young children . . .that equals drama.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, wouldn't you know it . . . my daughter. . .my child . . . my teenage mouth. . &lt;br /&gt;goes .  . . .*drum roll&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You got kids"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pause&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Girl, I got two older children that I had with one man from a marriage. And I never said I wouldn't date a man with children . . .cause I have, hence the fact you got an older sister. . .I said I don't want no man who many young ones running around by different women cause I don't want or need anymore drama in my life. And I am entitled to have all the standards I want. And I know you better not play around and mess with me by ever coming home with a man with numerous kids or it will be on and popping." *stops the neck rolling and hand movements&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, I have children. And I am always up front with a man . ."I have two children, who I love and will not put second, but I will give you the attention you deserve as a man and companion in my life." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you think I talk like that . . please stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am upfront about my children and situation. And I would hope he is too. .cause if I find out otherwise the relationship will end immediately, whatever. . don't judge me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am NOT going to date a man who lied about having children or how many. And don't give me the line you wanted a chance for me to get to know you first; I already know the most important thing. . liar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like I said I don't mind dating a man with children . .if it is a nine month old baby. . there would have to be a lot of discussion on that one. &lt;br /&gt;But, for the most part . . . in this day and age. . .I can not make the statement . . I don't date men with children, cause I myself two and well, at my age and in my age pool . . I would expect to find a man with at least one child . . .and those who don't have children are always surprising.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The one thing about dating .. . when children are involved. . .is it can be a little more challenging. Finding sitters or time to getaway. But, why make it more challenging with drama. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not that I expect to date a man who is completely free of drama cause, I know me and my ex can have an occasional . . .uumm. . .conversation about the children and what is in their best interest and while I won't involve the person I am dating, it will reflect in my mood sometimes. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The end.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-8370825264721820670?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/8370825264721820670/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=8370825264721820670&amp;isPopup=true" title="5 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/8370825264721820670?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/8370825264721820670?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/09/its-new-day-got-kids.html" title="It's a New Day . . .got kids?" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">5</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QBRXwzcCp7ImA9WxNQFUU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-1064930849266274701</id><published>2009-09-21T22:27:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-21T23:15:54.288-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-21T23:15:54.288-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="a warm welcome to a new blogger" /><title>Warm Welcome</title><content type="html">I need of inspiration and encouragement? &lt;br /&gt;I have been lately . . . &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am in the process of trying not only to change my negative outlook on my life. I don't want to hope my dreams come true  .  . .I want to know they will. I don't want to think I am wonderful . . . I want to know I am. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I am trying to shed the "victim" mentality. The one who dwells on her past heartache and keeps bringing into her future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, there is a new blog that I can now turn to for inspiration and a scripture to help uplift me and guide me in the my new walk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.prman4god.blogspot.com"&gt;PRMAN4GOD&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I wanted to welcome him to the blogosphere.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, back to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-1064930849266274701?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/1064930849266274701/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=1064930849266274701&amp;isPopup=true" title="3 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/1064930849266274701?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/1064930849266274701?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/09/warm-welcome.html" title="Warm Welcome" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">3</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0YHRXoyfSp7ImA9WxNQEkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-3551915146482888400</id><published>2009-09-18T08:52:00.007-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-18T09:38:54.495-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-18T09:38:54.495-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="my high heels" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="my crown" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="my nails" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="yes I am royalty" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="My logo inspiration" /><title>Random Me Things</title><content type="html">I love this ring:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOC1Ot7nTI/AAAAAAAAAxk/g1EpRHAgHLM/s1600-h/003.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOC1Ot7nTI/AAAAAAAAAxk/g1EpRHAgHLM/s320/003.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382789830633299250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My partner(he)brought this, and other pieces of jewelry, for me when we went to Puerto Rico. &lt;br /&gt;It isn't anything fancy . . .just a piece of lava rock, but I like it much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As you can see from the picture, I am wearing solar nails. The most annoying thing about wearing them is when people ask, "How can you do anything in those?". &lt;br /&gt;Seriously, they are not that long. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOEPpjqffI/AAAAAAAAAxs/O9XttpDsJbw/s1600-h/018.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOEPpjqffI/AAAAAAAAAxs/O9XttpDsJbw/s320/018.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382791384026217970" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have seen longer. And if I were to ask, the woman who made a comment about not being able to dress myself or being able to do dishes, how she could hate herself so much she smokes those cancer sticks, that will give her black lungs and make her clothes and hair smell, she would have been offended and I would have been in trouble (I was at work). &lt;br /&gt;Actually, when I was younger I would allow my nails to grow longer than this (my own nails) I have pictures of me in high school with, as my classmates called them, dragon nails.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;side note: It was either dragon nails or something about my hair being a weave. . .all in fun though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, I grew up, had children and quit being so into my nails and cut them off. Now, I am wearing solar nails cause my hands stay nice (there is no nail polish to chip) and they uniform. The downfall . . .&lt;br /&gt;the cost.&lt;br /&gt;Someone done lied and told me I got money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of money, 2010 well be a good year for me (us). Things are suppose to take off. We will see. &lt;br /&gt;OOpps &lt;br /&gt;I am suppose to put my negative thoughts behind me. I was told to work on it because I am never positive. I always expect something not to happen or something bad to happen. That is another post.&lt;br /&gt;So, anyway, I have to get somethings made up, like business cards, and writing of that . . .want to know where the inspiration for my personal logo came from?&lt;br /&gt;These lovelies right here:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOI620yJhI/AAAAAAAAAyE/3SWGHZGepqU/s1600-h/013.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOI620yJhI/AAAAAAAAAyE/3SWGHZGepqU/s320/013.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382796524368569874" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOI6VbJCBI/AAAAAAAAAx8/l9fG5iPuLYg/s1600-h/011.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOI6VbJCBI/AAAAAAAAAx8/l9fG5iPuLYg/s320/011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382796515402647570" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOI5suDfbI/AAAAAAAAAx0/l6u_ptBY70M/s1600-h/010.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOI5suDfbI/AAAAAAAAAx0/l6u_ptBY70M/s320/010.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382796504476122546" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(yes, I got veiny feet)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, those are my five-inch lovelies that I used for my logo. I can strut a runway so fiercely in those. &lt;br /&gt;Just looking at them makes my heart race, high heels excite me more than a man.  . .hahaha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Want to see something else, my partner brought me this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOL6WKDJ7I/AAAAAAAAAyM/9DOSnQr-V80/s1600-h/011.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 216px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOL6WKDJ7I/AAAAAAAAAyM/9DOSnQr-V80/s320/011.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382799814134278066" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a crown. The only problem it is too big and if I don't sit still it fall down around my neck. Which is too bad because I told him, I was going to wear it (along with the heels),out and about, and make people bow down to me. . .hahaha&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-3551915146482888400?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/3551915146482888400/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=3551915146482888400&amp;isPopup=true" title="10 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/3551915146482888400?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/3551915146482888400?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/09/random-me-things.html" title="Random Me Things" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/SrOC1Ot7nTI/AAAAAAAAAxk/g1EpRHAgHLM/s72-c/003.JPG" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">10</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUIMR3w7eip7ImA9WxNQEUw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-8876762207272166098</id><published>2009-09-16T11:50:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-16T12:13:06.202-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-16T12:13:06.202-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="failed plans" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="future plans" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Jay-Z" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="random thoughts" /><title>Things Thought</title><content type="html">* I hate when things go wrong. . . . I was suppose to go to Atlanta, GA. . . but things didn't work out.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* Did you know (whether you want to or not) we change for people. Especially, for someone we have fallen in love with. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;You say to yourself, when single or coming out of a relationship, I am not going to change for no one, ever, then you find yourself with someone else and slowly you begin to change.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It doesn't necessarily have to be a bad change. . . it could very well be a change for the better. . .like eating healthier. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The point is if you say you won't change . . . you are lying to yourself. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The key is not to change so much that you lose yourself. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* I am an extremely needy person. I need the time and attention of the person I am dating. If I don't get it I tend to find ways to get attention and if that fails, I tend to pull away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;How wrong am I?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I know I can't be some one's constant thought . . . but I want to feel thought of (constantly).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* I want to blog more, but the writing, building an empire, and more to gain financial independence from working for another is taking up much of my time. I work, come home care for the children, house, chores, etc. . . then I begin planning and writing and researching . . .and still try to fit sleep in.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lastly, I know I have said (wrote) this many times on twitter and facebook  (for those who hang with me on those spots) but I must let everyone know. . . &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I love love love this sexy commercial:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="580" height="360"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/iM1mPXJ95vc&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca&amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/iM1mPXJ95vc&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x402061&amp;color2=0x9461ca&amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="580" height="360"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-8876762207272166098?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/8876762207272166098/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=8876762207272166098&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/8876762207272166098?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/8876762207272166098?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/09/things-thought.html" title="Things Thought" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">8</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0YMQHc_fip7ImA9WxNRGEk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-4755018621192051748</id><published>2009-09-13T08:26:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-13T09:39:41.946-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-13T09:39:41.946-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Community television" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Public Service Television" /><title>Name my Show</title><content type="html">For $5000 thousand dollars you can become semi-famous. Well, maybe not semi-famous, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;but&lt;/span&gt; you can have your own show that hundreds of people will watch . . . if they don't have anything better to do, other than flip channels, because nothing else is on. Then, they will catch your buffoonery . . .er . . .I &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;mean&lt;/span&gt; show.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes, I am talking about those Public Access &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Community&lt;/span&gt; Channels. . . or whatever they are called.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I am extremely bored with the programs on television and flipping through the stations, I seem to always come across something on that channel that makes me stop and watch . . . well, at least for ten minutes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, far I have stumbled on a show, in which, a plump man is dressed like a slutty woman, and he is hollering, spitting, and sweating profusely over the fact that he hates (his words) Susan Boyle. I can't remember the exact title of the show but the words trailer park and trash were in it. He also has a background picture of a trailer with trash all around it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I turned that after four minutes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have watched a show called, Hood Homes. The concept is taken from MTV Cribs, but instead of seeing celebrities in their fancy homes, we get to see everyday people's homes in the hood. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Here is what I learned from watching that show:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* Everyone in the hood lives in either a project, run-down apartment, or run- down house.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* Everyone likes to have tons of people living with them or hanging around.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* The only pet they own (if they have one is) a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;pit bull&lt;/span&gt;. Mostly tied up in a yard on a short thick chain.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* Not waking up until 11:30 and beyond just about everyday is acceptable.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* There are two styles: lack of furniture or overly decorated (where it either looks &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;gaudy&lt;/span&gt; or cluttered).&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* And if you watch long enough everyone sounds foolish, which personally, makes me mad.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;It's okay to be proud of where you live and who you are, but seriously get some more freaking pride that you would want better.  "This is how we live and like to live." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;****** (insert word of choice), please don't no one want to live like that, if you did you wouldn't be trying to be a rapper. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I have a high school classmate who has two shows, she is into the hip hop scene in the city and tries to promote those in the city by giving them a showcase. It's all good, but I never really watch, because every time I try someone takes the stage who just sounds whack.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;One Sunday, I tried to get religion by watching a church program. Let me stop and be honest, I watched because it was an hour of pure hilarity. I know that God said, where two or three are gathered in my name . . . but that looked like someone just cleared out the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;living room&lt;/span&gt; put up some chairs and said let's have church. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Believe me, I have already heard what is going to happen to me, my sister was in town and came into my room as I was laughing, and declared I was going to Hell. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;However, she watched too and had a few comments of her own. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When the choir of three, put in a CD and started to half sing along with the choir on the CD, I was nearly on the floor. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Come on, now I know there were only a few of them, but they couldn't have found an instrumental only CD?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh, I know I need help. So, stop shaking your head at me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;Reverend&lt;/span&gt;, I want to see his papers. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Wait, on another show there is a Reverend who has his laptop set up on the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;podium&lt;/span&gt;. . . something about that bothers me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, after watching these and some other shows, I actually thought of putting up my own show. Any ideas?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;(only joking)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-4755018621192051748?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/4755018621192051748/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=4755018621192051748&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/4755018621192051748?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/4755018621192051748?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/09/name-my-show.html" title="Name my Show" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">8</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DUYHQX85eip7ImA9WxNRE0k.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-8800584506887066616</id><published>2009-09-07T14:08:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-07T14:12:10.122-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-09-07T14:12:10.122-04:00</app:edited><title>Still lurking</title><content type="html">I have been trying to figure out what to blog about. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Every time I think of a subject by the time I am able to sit down and type it up, I don't like the topic any more.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I hope everyone is having a good Labor day. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-8800584506887066616?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/8800584506887066616/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=8800584506887066616&amp;isPopup=true" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/8800584506887066616?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/8800584506887066616?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/09/still-lurking.html" title="Still lurking" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">9</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CEcFQX09cSp7ImA9WxNSFkU.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-8597110645500399395</id><published>2009-08-30T21:00:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-30T21:26:50.369-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-30T21:26:50.369-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Being positive and stepping away from the negative" /><title>Yes, I am Going to do it</title><content type="html">I have, for mostly all my life, been one of those people who has thought that if I hope for something good, something negative will happen. &lt;div&gt;It was as if I could not allow myself to believe, I could have anything good happen to me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;writing&lt;/span&gt; the word, was, because I am trying to change my way of thinking. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I won't go into the past or into why I have always thought like that but, I will say that I guess that had a lot to do with why I held on to my negative thoughts. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lately, I have really been striving to put these negative thoughts out of my head and keep &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;positive&lt;/span&gt; one before me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There are a few reasons for this.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. I am overlooking all of the wonderful things and people in my life when I concentrate on all the negative things that may never happen. Yes, I am neglecting being happy for the blessings that I have. The two greatest ones, being my daughter and son. Here I am thinking nothing good ever happens for me and the words, Mommy, mommy are being sung around me, by two healthy, intelligent, loving young ones who still care for my despite my faults. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And while, I complain I have nothing, all I need to do is turn on the T.V. and I will &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;find&lt;/span&gt; a story about someone who has less. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. I don't want my negative thinking to become an influence on my children. If I keep thinking nothing good happens to me, how should they feel. That they are no good. That the will live an unhappy life. No, I want my children to always know that there is always a silver lining even, if sometimes it is difficult to find at first.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3. I need to believe in myself and that God still loves me. I need to keep in mind that positive thoughts bring &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;positive&lt;/span&gt; results.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4. I don't want to lose a good friend, who sees nothing but a positive future for me and wants me to remember I can have everything I want.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now, &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;some days&lt;/span&gt; I may stumble and utter a negative, "It won't happen", but I am striving to keep in my head that I am wonderful and yes, I can.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;*************************************************************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;side note&lt;/span&gt;: with that out of the way. I have 99 rants for tomorrow :)  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-8597110645500399395?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/8597110645500399395/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=8597110645500399395&amp;isPopup=true" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/8597110645500399395?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/8597110645500399395?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/08/yes-i-am-going-to-do-it.html" title="Yes, I am Going to do it" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">9</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Ck4GQX85fSp7ImA9WxNSE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-7960577768596284741</id><published>2009-08-27T11:49:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-27T12:35:20.125-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-27T12:35:20.125-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Television and random thoughts" /><title>Television Randoms</title><content type="html">* I have always liked the show. . .In the Heat of the Night. I still watch the repeats of it every chance I get.&lt;div&gt;The only thing that irks me is Mrs. Tibbs is always in all the business of everyone.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* I have become a watcher of the show Real Housewives of ATL. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I didn't watch the show last season, at all. This season it started when I was bored so, I watched an episode on demand, with my daughter. My daughter was hooked. We watched all the shows we missed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I don't know how I feel about my daughter liking that show, because those women are questionable.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* My favorite reality shows are Run's House and the spin off Daddy's Girls. I think those are both really good shows. Plus, the girls are good examples for my daughter. Unlike other shows.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* My daughter has lost interested in the T.V. series, The Secret Life of an American Teenager. That show worked all my last nerves and more. Sex, babies, drinking. Seriously, teenagers today don't have any goals or dreams?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Though, I complained about the show, I didn't make her quit watching. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Thankfully, she got tired of it on her own.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* My son wants me to buy a Chop something or the other. It chops stuff. And he wants a Sham Wow. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Him and these commercials. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mommy, please buy one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;What for?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We need one.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;He need to learn what a need is.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* The season finale of The Closer was boring.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* I can't wait for NCIS to return and now there is a new one NCIS LA. I am so excited about both of them.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;* And I can't wait for my CSI to return. Lawrence has been doing a good job.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-7960577768596284741?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/7960577768596284741/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=7960577768596284741&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/7960577768596284741?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/7960577768596284741?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/08/television-randoms.html" title="Television Randoms" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">8</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;DE8FSHY6eCp7ImA9WxNSEUs.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-3167782652004973754</id><published>2009-08-24T21:24:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-24T22:20:19.810-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-24T22:20:19.810-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Back form vacation" /><title>I Have Been Back but</title><content type="html">Okay, I have decided to forgive you all and come back.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Maybe, if you all knew how to treat a person, I would have stayed around.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let me stop. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went on a mini- vacation with my partner and I was being lazy by not putting up a post. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Where did we go?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;San Jaun, Puerto Rico!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Did I have fun?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yes, I did, even when we were fussing at each other, I enjoyed every moment. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;When I first came back I had so much I wanted to share. Now, as the days have gone by, it seems like old news. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We experienced a few raised eyebrows because, I am often mistaken as Latina and he is a dark (black) man. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;We went on a long, unintentional walk under the heat of the sun in the middle of the day, to find ourselves at a dead end. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And the funniest moment, was when we were coming home and the girl at the ticket counter, asked my partner if I spoke English, without ever addressing me. And all I could do was stare in disbelief. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;oh well, I missed the opportunity. Maybe next time.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-3167782652004973754?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/3167782652004973754/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=3167782652004973754&amp;isPopup=true" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/3167782652004973754?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/3167782652004973754?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-have-been-back-but.html" title="I Have Been Back but" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">9</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;AkINSXYyeip7ImA9WxNTEkk.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-7654045268164993299</id><published>2009-08-14T07:09:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T07:16:38.892-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-14T07:16:38.892-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="vacation" /><title>Smile</title><content type="html">I just wanted to take a moment and wish everyone a wonderful weekend.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am taking a moment to clear my mind and get rejuvenated.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I will see everyone when I get back. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There will be pictures and some good recaps. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;SHARON IS ON VACATION!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;toodles&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-7654045268164993299?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/7654045268164993299/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=7654045268164993299&amp;isPopup=true" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/7654045268164993299?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/7654045268164993299?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/08/smile.html" title="Smile" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">9</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;A0QCQX88fyp7ImA9WxJaGUQ.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-7706050576897696329</id><published>2009-08-11T08:58:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T10:02:40.177-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-11T10:02:40.177-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Growing up in the projects" /><title>Nostalgia</title><content type="html">This post is the result of two things: a song and a comment.&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The song that is having me write about a few childhood memories is: Wild Wild West by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Kool&lt;/span&gt; Moe Dee. For those who don't know what that is, it is a from 1988. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;That song was a favorite. I remember loving when the video came on BET. There I was sitting in the living room of our project apartment, bobbing my head and singing along.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And when he said the the line: a place called the Hill. . .I knew what he was talking about. That is where I lived. A ghetto neighborhood called the Hill, right on Burrows Street. Now, I know that where he was talking about was much worse then where I lived. Our projects were tamed compared to others in bigger cities. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Still those were the crazy days. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And while, I didn't particularly like the projects and couldn't wait to get out of them, with my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;bougie&lt;/span&gt; poor behind, living there gave me some great memories.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let me interrupt myself here, to get to the comment that was made, this guy who is a few years older than me and I were talking about where I am from. Actually, he asked me where I was from (raised). &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: The Hill&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Him: You lived on the Hill?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: on Burrows&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Him: In the projects?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: Yes, I did&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Him: You don't look like someone from the projects. You don't look like you lived up there.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Me: I am.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, what does someone from the projects look like?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Someone whose father couldn't pay rent or afford rent elsewhere. Someone whose family &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;relied&lt;/span&gt; on welfare to eat. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They look like me.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Let me recall my memories:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Like . . . Task Force driving into the courtyard at full speed, and looking at you like it is your fault you almost got hit for sitting outside. Yes, we had to run out of the way when they were coming, cause they were driving there car on sidewalks and in courtyards not giving two pennies who was out. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Almost hit a small boy once, the mother went off, crying and telling them about themselves, even though they pretended not to hear. And her family pulled her in the house, so she wouldn't get in trouble. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There was this one black cop, a member of task force, name forgotten, who would do the name calling for the group. They would have guys against the wall and they would be searching them, with him screaming, "You Niggers need to go back to Africa." &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;SMH&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The day a man was murdered across the street in one of the hallways and two detectives, one white one black, knocking on my door saying they were canvassing the neighborhood for witnesses, I told them I didn't know anything about it. And them looking like they didn't believe me. Well, guess what? I really didn't know anything about it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There was that night they were shooting outside my window, we lived on the first floor, and I discovered that guns flash when shot at night. At least, I swore I saw a flash every time there was a shot. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mostly, I didn't have any problems. Like getting into fights or being bothered. I mean there were a few times but for most of my life there I was cool. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I had guys who liked me and I had to ignore . . .so I was considered stuck up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Then again I wasn't cause everyone spoke and joked with me. I walked to the corner store with no worries of being accosted . . .except by the old men club who liked to sit out all spring and summer, in their lawn chairs and eye women . . . age didn't matter. . . and make their old nasty &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;perverted&lt;/span&gt; men comments.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Once a guy who liked me and I didn't like back threw a bottle my way when I was walking back from the store. When I looked back he smiled sheepishly. Luckily, he missed because I can't tell y'all what would have happened. I don't want to implicate anyone in any crimes. . . . &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;HAHAHA&lt;/span&gt;. I am joking. Please policeman do not show up at my door.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;There were a few altercations I got in one time this girl, may I add who was visiting, pushed this little boy who I always watched and was very fond of, so I went over and pushed her down. She went running upstairs to her grandparents place.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;She was lucky I just pushed her. And second she lucky he didn't tell his family. Hell, she lucky I didn't get foul and tell his family.  She just didn't know . . .&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyway, she was visiting her grandparents for the summer with a cousin. So, me and the little boy are sitting in the doorway of the building and they start taunting me to come upstairs. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Oh wait . . .her grandparents lived above my apartment.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, one of the other neighbors who heard them calling me looked out her peephole and calls down to me to tell me they have knives in their hands. The plan was to stab me up, people.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I go into my place and grab a bat. Not a wooded one. . .one of those &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;aluminium&lt;/span&gt; ones. My father is like what are you doing with that. Cause he know my girlie behind &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7"&gt;didn't&lt;/span&gt; play no baseball. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I told him what happened. The black man goes upstairs. The girls see him go in the apartment. He knocks on the door . . .the grandfather answers. My father goes off. No more problems. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;They just spent the summer rolling eyes and calling names. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Which brings me to another memory. Every time I would get into it with someone or someone wanted to call names or talk smack, they would use the word white. White girl. White Bitch. White this. White that.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;The first two times that stuff may have hurt some. But, by the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8"&gt;fourth&lt;/span&gt; time it's like "Stupid Bitch, get original."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Sorry, for the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9"&gt;language&lt;/span&gt; but that is how it was and I did tell y'all I was raised in the ghetto.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-7706050576897696329?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/7706050576897696329/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=7706050576897696329&amp;isPopup=true" title="6 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/7706050576897696329?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/7706050576897696329?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/08/nostalgia.html" title="Nostalgia" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">6</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;C0MFRH05fip7ImA9WxJaFkw.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-4548084841637018342</id><published>2009-08-06T21:20:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T22:16:55.326-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-06T22:16:55.326-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Chrisette Michele" /><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="tagged" /><title>A Tag and Award</title><content type="html">&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"   style=" color: rgb(99, 32, 53);  font-family:Helvetica;font-size:13px;"&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;I was given the Honest Blogger Award by &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://iambootifal.blogspot.com/"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;Luv.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt; So, when I went over to her spot to thank her I found this tag, too.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;She didn't have the rules up, but I, being the smart girl I am, figured it out (I think). What you do is pick an Artist then use the titles of their songs for the answers to the questions.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;Pick your Artist:&lt;br /&gt;Chrisette Michele (Because I love her CD's)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are you a male or female:&lt;br /&gt;"Good Girl"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Describe yourself:&lt;br /&gt;"Fragile"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do you feel:&lt;br /&gt;"Let's Rock"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Describe where you currently live:&lt;br /&gt;"Blame it on Me"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you could go anywhere, where would you go?&lt;br /&gt;"Mr. Right"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your favorite form of transportation:&lt;br /&gt;"Like a Dream"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your best friend?&lt;br /&gt;"Your Joy"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You and your best friends are:&lt;br /&gt;"Playin our song"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's the weather like:&lt;br /&gt;"Is This the Way Love Feels"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Favorite time of day:&lt;br /&gt;"Notebook"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If your life was a TV show, what would it be called:&lt;br /&gt;"Best of me"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is life to you:&lt;br /&gt;"Golden"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your relationship:&lt;br /&gt;"All I Ever Think About"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your fear:&lt;br /&gt;"On My Own"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is the best advice you have to give:&lt;br /&gt;"Work it Out"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thought for the Day:&lt;br /&gt;"Epiphany"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How I would like to die:&lt;br /&gt;"If I Have My Way"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My soul's present condition:&lt;br /&gt;"Be OK"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My motto:&lt;br /&gt;"I'm Okay"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="color:#000000;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;a&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;Let me put a disclaimer here. . . .this was hard because Chrisette only got two CD's. I picked the best titles possible.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;I will address the Award next time. (promise)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span"  style="font-family:Helvetica;"&gt;&lt;span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: medium;"&gt;So, guys let me see what you all come up with. Make sure if you are doing this to let me know in the comments.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-4548084841637018342?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/4548084841637018342/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=4548084841637018342&amp;isPopup=true" title="8 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/4548084841637018342?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/4548084841637018342?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/08/tag-and-award.html" title="A Tag and Award" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">8</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;Dk4DQnoyfSp7ImA9WxJaFU8.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-1085210853179843956</id><published>2009-08-05T20:48:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T22:16:13.495-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-05T22:16:13.495-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="Good Day" /><title>Today was a Great Day</title><content type="html">I can not complain about anything right now. I want to take this joy I have and bottle it up for a later day. . . cause I know the blah one is stalking me right now. &lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;So, I went to woke to the phone it was my partner saying he is taking me on a vacation. Where?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Had a good day at work. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Finished some writing.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Found ten dollars on the ground. (I do feel bad for the person who lost it)&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Came home and my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;pay stub&lt;/span&gt; was in the mail. I thought we got paid next week. I mean. . .wow, I lost track of my payday.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;All I can do is be thankful for this day.  It was needed. It is appreciated.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-1085210853179843956?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/1085210853179843956/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=1085210853179843956&amp;isPopup=true" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/1085210853179843956?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/1085210853179843956?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/08/today-was-great-day.html" title="Today was a Great Day" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">9</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;CkABQHY6cCp7ImA9WxJaE0Q.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-7389787652962888175</id><published>2009-08-04T08:51:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-04T08:59:11.818-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-04T08:59:11.818-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="My logo" /><title>My Logo</title><content type="html">&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/Sngv4pJvPJI/AAAAAAAAAxI/mAh-XqNCmAQ/s1600-h/TTUQ-final.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 400px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/Sngv4pJvPJI/AAAAAAAAAxI/mAh-XqNCmAQ/s400/TTUQ-final.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5366091606177823890" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Here it is my . . . personal logo.&lt;div&gt;I don't know what you think, and honestly I don't care, cause I find it fire.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Okay, that wasn't nice to write. I care what you think everyday but today. HAHA.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am so loving life today.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-7389787652962888175?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/7389787652962888175/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=7389787652962888175&amp;isPopup=true" title="18 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/7389787652962888175?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/7389787652962888175?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/08/my-logo.html" title="My Logo" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" url="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_T8cz7ANjnoc/Sngv4pJvPJI/AAAAAAAAAxI/mAh-XqNCmAQ/s72-c/TTUQ-final.jpg" height="72" width="72" /><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">18</thr:total></entry><entry gd:etag="W/&quot;D0cHSXkzeyp7ImA9WxJaE00.&quot;"><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2651434035318128279.post-5043947247214244695</id><published>2009-08-03T08:25:00.004-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T09:10:38.783-04:00</updated><app:edited xmlns:app="http://www.w3.org/2007/app">2009-08-03T09:10:38.783-04:00</app:edited><category scheme="http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#" term="mindless chatter" /><title>It's Another Day</title><content type="html">My mind is a complete blank on what I should write about today. &lt;br /&gt;It's not like I don't have something to complain about. . . I am still waiting for Verizon to show up and my job is . . . let it go,Sharon. Focus on the future.&lt;br /&gt;or&lt;br /&gt;Something off the wall and wacky to to write. . . like how when someone told me my butt is big, it was not offensive and I had to say thank you. I love my booty. Of course she had meant that she isn't a fan of having a butt or doesn't understand the reasons why people like or want one. She is also not of my culture so, maybe that is the deal.&lt;br /&gt;or&lt;br /&gt;Something on my mind, puzzling me . . . like loving someone so much . . it hurts. Not to mention when you are doing it with distance between the two of you. And the distance doesn't hurt it only strengthens that love. Cause, you know they way the two of you strive to stay connected, once this obstacle has been removed, the two of you will last forever.   &lt;br /&gt;or &lt;br /&gt;Something comical my children said . . . like the reason I want to take pictures of them everywhere we go. . .is so I can blog about it. HAHA. They know me so well. Pictures of the zoo and ballgame are coming soon.&lt;br /&gt;or&lt;br /&gt;Something about the exited anticipation I have waiting for G.I.Joe to come out. Oh, yes I will be there.&lt;br /&gt;or &lt;br /&gt;Something about all my goals and dreams. How I hope everything will fall into place very soon. Which reminds me I need to put my personal logo up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah, it is like I said . . my mind is completely blank today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2651434035318128279-5043947247214244695?l=thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com'/&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel="replies" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/feeds/5043947247214244695/comments/default" title="Post Comments" /><link rel="replies" type="text/html" href="https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=2651434035318128279&amp;postID=5043947247214244695&amp;isPopup=true" title="9 Comments" /><link rel="edit" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/5043947247214244695?v=2" /><link rel="self" type="application/atom+xml" href="http://www.blogger.com/feeds/2651434035318128279/posts/default/5043947247214244695?v=2" /><link rel="alternate" type="text/html" href="http://thetrueurbanqueen.blogspot.com/2009/08/its-another-day.html" title="It's Another Day" /><author><name>The True Urban Queen aka Sharon</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06452688501671751879</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty name="OpenSocialUserId" value="03278439285348747987" /></author><thr:total xmlns:thr="http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0">9</thr:total></entry></feed>
