tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-50615146202179719812024-03-05T10:15:42.469-07:00EGB and BB Are The New Thugs In TownThe musings and happenings of the wayfaring Bohrman clan as they encounter ninjas, space shifters, and diaper capers in Golden, Colorado.....Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger223125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-79539304754213186752014-05-16T15:22:00.000-06:002014-05-16T15:23:04.002-06:00Looking BackI really didn't plan on writing anything today. Or maybe ever again, for that matter.<br />
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What was I supposed to do? Pick up where I left off? Play catch up? No, it's all too much to carry. <br />
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It's like a long distance relationship that's hanging on to that frozen moment. Holding hands from far away is fruitless attempt. At a certain point, we all wither and die in each other's minds, only to live on as ghosts of our former selves. And as we meet again, we stare, two ghosts in the night, fumbling about with the hope that our new beings haven't alienated what we once were. The accelerated gravity of displaced time may become too much to bear. There is no recipe, no book, or no others that can bring back the dead. And, therefore, sometimes the past is just best left where it will always reside. Otherwise the cost is too high for the future.<br />
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Revisionist history is attainable, but will not be accepted by the witnesses, leaving us at the crossroads. However, we're presented with a false choice--one can not walk back. Turn around, the road is disappearing until black. Just like the great-great-great-greats before us whose very names we've forgotten. Whittled down to an abstract reality that we are bound by anything more than dust.<br />
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I respect the past for it has the constituents of the present. But out of this reverence, I stop short of commitment. For death shows no mercy and ghosts have no future. They're all left behind.<br />
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So here we are. We shall accept the increasingly heavy weight and fading road, and we'll soldier on.<br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-63630517009898458272014-01-20T04:00:00.000-07:002014-01-20T04:00:11.779-07:00He Was A Peaceful Loving ManWho?<br />
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Not me. I'm crayyyy. Yup, some dude bumped his shopping cart into mine and I took his children and sold them on E-Bay.<br />
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It's Martin Luther King we're talking about here. That peaceful loving dude. I'm not going to wax poetic about the man. I'll leave that up to my 5-year-old mop-head, EGB. She's in kindergarten where she's learning real stuff, with real teachers, and how to fight boys. <br />
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I asked her what she learned in school and she didn't give me the ol, "nuthin'". I got real answer that let's you into the psyche of a youngster. They tell it to you straight.<br />
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EGB for President of this whole damn place.<br />
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Side note--a few days after this, she started weeping at the dinner table. I asked her why and she told me she felt "so sad that the brown people were treated the way they were by the white people. And it was just because they were brown." She felt it all. Internalized the pain of history. <br />
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Leave it up to a 5-year-old to see and feel the world as it should be--fair. I know that big heart is going to crush her someday, but it's my hope that she dreams as big as her heart. If so, we'll all win.<br />
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Stay true to your hearts little ones.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-59453575585428582712013-11-27T06:11:00.002-07:002013-11-27T06:11:33.734-07:00Be Afraid. Very Afraid.I'm coming back with tales from the crypt.<br />
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I don't even care that it's the first time in 5,000 years that Hanukah and Thanksgiving fall on the same day.<br />
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Hide your babies and mammas. It's about to get medieval up in this mutha.<br />
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Whatever you do. DON'T click on this picture.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-26745689571822326252013-05-10T06:09:00.000-06:002013-05-10T06:09:20.485-06:00Is it Over Yet?<br />
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As of today, yes.<br />
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For the past 1.5 million years people have been eating meat. People have been having babies. People have been interested in fire. Woman has loved man (but nagged him). Man has loved woman (even though she nagged him). Man has loved man. Dog has loved bacon. Woman has loved woman (we all love each other). And Jay has been in school. Like the forces of earth, wind, and fire....and school. It's been there.<br />
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Today it ends.<br />
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This is a story of triumph, heroism, tragedy, comedy, masochism, and a whole bunch of other adjectives. I won't bore you with the details, but know this--the protagonist, the mother, my partner in crime, is the baddest superhero this world has ever seen. <br />
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This long road is something that is hard to appreciate until you get to the end, turn around, look back, and say, "damn, that's a long ass road." Or maybe it's better to think of this as a mountain top. Looking down. Looking out. The trail is blurry, the air is clear, the heart is full....and there's a buttload of rocks everywhere. That's more like it. <br />
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I know that we all have perspective on our journeys and I can't speak for our protagonist, but in my view, this marathon of devotion to a single goal is something that we all can learn from. Life isn't about one thing. It's about everything all at once.<br />
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I saw beautiful weekends evaporate into anatomy book study sessions. Days of work for the paycheck. Bravery to learn the things that she didn't know. Expose herself to be supported by the guidance of those that came before her. She was always the friend-the kind beacon radiating love. Thinking, doing, and acting for others in the middle of the vortex. I watched her give birth to the two most powerful, loving,
diaper-exploding, creatures that have ever walked this earth--EGB and
Baby B. And on. And on.<br />
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All this in one ball of lint. Have you ever tried to take apart lint? Don't. It's fruitless. Just like this attempt to unweb the web of experiences of our past. Just like the view from the mountaintop. The trail isn't what's important. It's the view and everything that comes along with emotion of being able to look out, if even only for a brief moment.<br />
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From this mountaintop, with messy hair and a less than clean house, I say to you, mother of my children, love of my life, and partner in all things good and bad--I'm proud of you. I don't know what's in store for us. None of us do, but I know we can do it together. That includes the rest of you too. We couldn't, shouldn't, and wouldn't do any of this without you.<br />
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Congrats to you. Take a moment to think of what we've all accomplished. It's not a statistic. <br />
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It's survival.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-91062501209953638722013-04-05T08:52:00.001-06:002013-04-05T08:52:20.603-06:00Time FliesThis seems like yesterday.<br />
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This was over two years ago.<br />
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This was back when I didn't have as much of a bald yarmulke spot.<br />
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This was before baby baboon boy hit the scene.<br />
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And if this doesn't make you smile, you a cold hearted vampire. Not like the nice vampires you see on Twilight. Not that I'd know. Twilight is for prepubescent girls, not manly cavemen like me.<br />
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<a href="http://youtu.be/njWxgCDFGeE" target="_blank">http://youtu.be/njWxgCDFGeE </a><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="500" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/njWxgCDFGeE?list=UUMrhGh7ZqnmjvWeTePKXw8A" width="500"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-31155791556427985842013-02-22T06:19:00.003-07:002013-02-22T06:19:51.765-07:00It's Friday. It's ROI day.Just been hunkering down at Family ROI Training Camp.<br />
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ROI does not stand for "Rock On Islands". Nope, ROI for those not in the in the know stands for "Return On Investment".<br />
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There's been no island rocking around here. In fact, it's been more like get-poopie-on-your-hands-and-gouge-your-eyes-with-dull-pencils. Then maybe...just maybe, for a little extra wild excitement, get an escape to the grocery store to get milk, drink an airline liquor bottle on the way, and aggressively tackle the sample hand out lady.<br />
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You see, the plan is to invest in your kids so that you CAN rock on an island. I'm getting close.<br />
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Actually, screw it, I'm close enough.<br />
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We're leaving for Mexico in 15 minutes.<br />
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EGB don't stay up too late and make sure you give Baby B some milk. See you in a couple of days or weeks.<br />
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Call the neighbors if you need a ride to school.<br />
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Now get back to work.<br />
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<a href="http://youtu.be/HxVii4Hj1c8">http://youtu.be/HxVii4Hj1c8</a><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-58070327611464024382012-11-16T06:14:00.002-07:002012-11-16T06:14:43.847-07:00Get The Band Back Together<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I'd totally write a bunch of stuff right here but I have no time to do so. Therefore, I'm dropping some pictures on your head. If you have any questions, please comment and I'll respond in 2023.</div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-30407859961847686922012-11-02T06:31:00.000-06:002012-11-02T06:31:12.625-06:002012 Election Is Coming to an End But Friday is Here.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
EGB and BB are a bit sad about it all. Even though they truly love the incessant tv ads, robo calls, knocks on doors, emails, radio ads, social media blasts, emails, flyers, mailers, flags, campaign snacks, campaigners in the streets, and all things Obama-Romney....they know that all good things must come to an end.</div>
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And the BILLION dollars that have been spent to decide the next puppet(eer) have been totally well spent. Good thing that our roads, schools, children are in such great shape--otherwise I'd be mad.</div>
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These guys spend all their time telling me about the world for my children--debt, schools, economic future. I'm not so sure they know what they're talking about.</div>
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They're not talking about fairness. They're not talking about love. They're not talking about who has the best pizza order. They're not talking about diaper changing strategies when a hurricane goes off in BB's pants. They don't care about my world. That's ok. They're not supposed to. They can't. Not with the task they've been presented and the limited powers they're provided. They're not kings. They're just-a man. A man in a big ol' white house.</div>
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That's what I'll teach my children. I'll teach them--Be fair. Be loyal. Think for yourself. Be ok with uncertainty. And be you. <b>None</b> of this is being said with the billion dollars. Unfortunately, our "leaders" aren't my children, but they sure act like it sometimes.</div>
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Not cynical here. It's just that kids don't give a damn. At times I'm not sure if I do either as long as I have you all. It's a noisy world out there.</div>
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We don't have to look far beyond the little princes and princesses among us for the truth. Look to the little ones and see if they care about WHO is the boss? They just know if it ain't them they're pissed. Sounds like the rest of us.....</div>
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Put on your wings and get some. It's Friday. Ain't that what matters?</div>
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Belief.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-45856919252903068002012-10-26T06:32:00.000-06:002013-02-22T06:05:04.695-07:00Dogs, Babies, Smurfs and Cheap BeerRecipe for a real good party.<br />
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I figure since I don't have time to write, videos serve a better purpose. Videographic-high-sugar-caloric-memory-punch-in-the-head is the way I'm transmitting to you. Sock it to you. <br />
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It's hard to think that a summer has come and gone. EGB hit 4. BB hit 1. I hit old. Dog hit biblical age. <br />
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I feel the urge to write, but weighty thoughts take time. Time is a funny thing these days. Remember calling cards? Yeah, the plastic cards with 500 digits on them...For those in my reading audience that are calling their families in Sri Lanka, you still use them. Y'all are retro cool like that. The others of you in prison that still use them, get off my blog and do some pushups. All others that have moved into the 21st century, this is what I'm talking about--calling cards and time. Remember when you'd use the card on your buddy's landline to call your girl and have lots to say but no minutes left? Get that 'beep beep' and you know it's all about to end....that's my life now.<br />
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I have a box of 2 minute calling cards with a mouthful of 30 minute conversations. Recipe for unbaked cake.<br />
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I'm working on a time app. Download it. You'll get more time to talk, write, reflect, and just do you. However, I'm having a coding hiccup on the part where you can turn kid's farts into vacations in the Caribbean.<br />
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Until then. Chew on this video. Baby B and Orange C-Furry paid top dollar for the show. It was a real quality performance full of modern dance, stuffed animals, and gangsta beats.<br />
<a href="http://youtu.be/20NGBFHDIh4">http://youtu.be/20NGBFHDIh4</a><br />
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Yup. It's a chunky smurf, fuzzy baby, and an orange dog drinking spiked punch and partying into the wee hours of the morning. I was sleeping, but good thing I have a teddy bear cam and captured the whole thing.<br />
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They figured they got away with it. At first I was mad. Then we all laughed about it. Then a Rice Crispy and milk shot out of EGB's nose. We laughed even harder until Baby B pooped on his leg. Then I stopped laughing. Party over.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-45293727496382945262012-10-19T06:17:00.000-06:002012-10-26T06:34:52.939-06:00What's REALLY Goin On?I ain't sayin' where I've been hiding....<br />
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Save us.<br />
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Ever heard a bird choke on a pork knuckle? You're about to.<br />
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Welcome to the asylum......<br />
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<a href="http://youtu.be/voJ6Ryla_6I">http://youtu.be/voJ6Ryla_6I</a>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-10605371298827482222012-06-15T06:21:00.001-06:002012-06-15T06:21:26.936-06:00My Day. Friday.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Weekend, y'all. Git yourself some. </div>
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Still underwater, but figure by 2025 I'll be updating you on EGB's 4th b-day party. Good things come to those who wait so quit being all antsy on me. I'm busy.</div>
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Hang out in some grass and fight snakes.</div>
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<br />Work yo ass out and nap it off.</div>
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Stare at someone. It makes them uncomfortable. It makes you feel powerful. Unless you're staring at EGB, she's super powerful which offsets staring power so you have to stare extra hard.<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-42981599955252454022012-05-25T06:08:00.001-06:002012-05-25T06:08:26.136-06:00Goood Morning Old People!Annnnnd.....<br />
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No one sleeps in this joint! For serious.<br />
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Sartre's hell in "No Exit" sounds like a nice vacation these days. Not serious. <br />
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But my high school French teach <i><b>would</b></i> be proud that I referenced this play 20 years later after she kicked me out of AP class that I was essentially grandfathered into as a result of my sister's legacy as a mini-Marie Antoinette French polyglot. Thanks sis for paving the way for my failure. Sort of serious.<br />
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On to real seriousness. Friday is here and we've got to take the party up a notch.<br />
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Show some gums. Don't be scared. Think of him as a piranha without teeth. One aggressive gummer.<br />
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Hanging out with a headless lady who dresses just like me. I like her. She has impeccable style and doesn't say much. I say a lot. I need a lot of verbal bandwidth. I kinda wish my brother was headless too. He'd still have his cute toes and hands, but he wouldn't be blabbing and gumming and all that other stuff that irritates me. Anyone got a headless baby that they'd like to trade? I like ham sandwiches. <br />
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The whole world is ahead of you. I know this sounds positive, but because I'm strapped in this damn torture device, I can't catch up to those fools that are getting further and further ahead. I totally need to walk. This blows. <br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-70125830443284138472012-05-11T06:18:00.001-06:002012-05-11T06:18:31.865-06:00Happy Fry Day<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Things are cooking up around here. Summer is around the corner. No one is sleeping yet. Seriously, when we survive all this I'm going too have some stories to tell you. Or maybe to a shrink. </div>
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Here's a little nugget.</div>
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The other day EGB asked if she could go into the basement to get something from her kitchen. (I know, basement kitchens are dangerous, but we're living on the edge like that.) After I said yes, she strutted her way down and then 30 seconds later proceeded to yell out a earth shattering shrill.</div>
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"What, what!?" I'm yelling at the top of the stairs wondering if she's fallen off the washing machine. (It could happen.)</div>
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"Daddy! I heard a noise!!!!!" EGB is now paralyzed with fear. </div>
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"What'd you hear?" As I had to go pick up the statue of ghostly white fear.</div>
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"Eeek, ook!!!!!!!!!"</div>
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"Ohhhhh. That's easy to explain. You heard the dryer or a small goblin."</div>
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"Noooo. It was real!" Still shaking. "Daddy, it was a fox. Do foxes live in basements?".......</div>
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At this point, I realized that she TRULY thought a fox was in our basement. </div>
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These are pivotal moments that I wrestle with as a parent. </div>
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I'm not sure about you, but in almost every conversation with a toddler, I push the elements of fantasy and reality without any major remorse. It's fun to explore the annals of an unfinished mind. I mean, for how much longer can I tell her that we have a secret chocolate pool in a unknown gateway in our house or that I fight dragons when I go to work (partially true)? She's knocking on the door of 4 and is getting mildly savvier about these types of things.</div>
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White as a ghost. The realities of fear are very real. So I did what any loving, caring, warm parent would do--I gave her some nunchucks and said, "Here you go kid. You find that fox and bust his world up. I know you're a girl and all, but it's time you put some hair on that chest." And walked away.</div>
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Not sure what happened next, but I heard something that sounded like holes getting popped in drywall. </div>
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The line between reality and fantasy should always remain blurred. Growing older and full of this reality that things are and are not is quite boring, one-dimensional, and maybe dangerous for soul. Ever notice that the visionaries of our times are those that don't accept reality? Those that embrace what appears to be impossible to the rest of us. Lucidity has its benefits. That's the 3 year old in us all buried in layers of realistic perception. But the only REAL reality is the POSSIBILITIES that exist in the universe. EGB can tell you all about this if you come to her basement.</div>
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EGB is growing up quick and furious. She's an emerging fuzzy-headed suburban mountain climbing ninja.</div>
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Some say me and my old dad look alike. I don't see it. He's scratchy. I'm soft, but dangerous. Betta believe dat.<br />
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It's friday yo. Get on your weekend hat and deliver some papers. Maybe roll in some grass. Grab a booby or two. <br />
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What? Better look the other way or I'll vaporize you and take you to my leader who will sing bad karaoke to you. </div>
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-81113460614988001002012-05-02T06:06:00.000-06:002012-05-02T06:06:36.616-06:00Ever Feel Like....You're working really hard at all of this and not really going anywhere?<br />
<br />
Yeah? Well you have a ton in common with Baby B and likely other 7 month olds around the world. <br />
<br />
Look around you. Life can be a struggle, but there is growth in that struggle. Keep on fighting, my people.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="500" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/J93kxkQ0dK8" width="500"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-58232139354590750052012-05-01T21:09:00.000-06:002012-05-01T21:09:06.085-06:00Delta Dawn What's That Flower You Have On?<div style="text-align: left;"><div style="text-align: left;">So where have I been?</div><br />
Making rock videos, of course. <br />
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This one is one that EGB's mama sang in many a dusty roadhouses. On long lingering summer evenings this tune was belted out in the spirit of the faithful searchers. In her younger days they called her Delta Dawn. Wandering with a suitcase in her hand and looking for a mysterious dark haired man. She never allowed anyone to know her. She was always pretending. But she had the prettiest eyes, you'd ever laid eyes on. <br />
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All the folks round here said she's crazy. <br />
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EGB has that timeless spirit. I have a feeling she'll be a searcher and likely searched, as well. Hopefully, it aint by the Po-Po while she's on the lam after knocking off some 7-11s though.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="500" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/GHxr_yXodJk" width="500"></iframe></div></div><br />
Come on, Helen. You did this good, but EGB gonna take your Grammy and melt it into a big gold plate for her cookies.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="500" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/YKvo_NyeTcs" width="500"></iframe></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-30928993170710974502012-04-13T06:04:00.001-06:002012-04-13T06:05:32.235-06:00It's a Love Song.All of it. The good and bad.<br />
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I've been flushing out a blog post or two in my head. Sometimes on the trail runs. Other times in the car on the way to work. They become grand thoughts that are whittled away by life and time.<br />
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I've not abandoned the blog. I've not left you all. I'm surviving on the precipice of family life. <br />
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It's the middle of a love song.<br />
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All love.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwyuEabhKbM6ETM9Mh99eCdSbwRtnGzdHzEYgEhSvpn6OoU3cLCbX_YUQAFqNi_HgtUNvxoQaR3ayFiDXA48nIt5nPTYiKp51MGlRwvUgYBU9et88ejd535YH0zEzKzYUwgumPrLbPmS-/s1600/P1000946.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcwyuEabhKbM6ETM9Mh99eCdSbwRtnGzdHzEYgEhSvpn6OoU3cLCbX_YUQAFqNi_HgtUNvxoQaR3ayFiDXA48nIt5nPTYiKp51MGlRwvUgYBU9et88ejd535YH0zEzKzYUwgumPrLbPmS-/s640/P1000946.JPG" width="480" /></a></div> Innocence is a work of craftsmanship by me. I work hard at being this sweet. Usually I'll just snakebite your ankle and steal your candy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXJKUDfIWcLVy_ZitUADvWbEBBLisPxWpg6Fo1HkSjCAuLgkq-ypPt2pa-KW6p8IIO3gyFDMW1B-T7KrW8r8JDs_XacITAHzhQTnK0wviD_VZ2OZUNtqXJNztgbjZCBbE0IN4vVBLBtMN/s1600/P1000900.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJXJKUDfIWcLVy_ZitUADvWbEBBLisPxWpg6Fo1HkSjCAuLgkq-ypPt2pa-KW6p8IIO3gyFDMW1B-T7KrW8r8JDs_XacITAHzhQTnK0wviD_VZ2OZUNtqXJNztgbjZCBbE0IN4vVBLBtMN/s640/P1000900.JPG" width="480" /></a></div> Fly like an eagle....Is that a boob? I'm gonna attack!<br />
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I'm burning rubber, yo. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGpuAhUc-xzztGOcjtwYZ3s5V0wrDHy74PkdzXJX23KoExXwfYql-HFbWnRKxPmHGjn2e_2gE-mCJ8yy52i5Y9gEn1wEvOAgXJhIDGq0XQrL_HDfecLrhc75rXep9Tsu9QQSNv9C40GJh/s1600/P1000873.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJGpuAhUc-xzztGOcjtwYZ3s5V0wrDHy74PkdzXJX23KoExXwfYql-HFbWnRKxPmHGjn2e_2gE-mCJ8yy52i5Y9gEn1wEvOAgXJhIDGq0XQrL_HDfecLrhc75rXep9Tsu9QQSNv9C40GJh/s640/P1000873.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-3340272639277455872012-03-16T06:04:00.000-06:002012-03-16T06:04:47.298-06:00That Time of the Week<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>It's Friday!<br />
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If you have a big stinky sister, be afraid......they take toys and tickle.<br />
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Cute, but dangerous. Eats rattlesnakes. Call authorities if seen<br />
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</a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-54816612215181296752012-03-09T06:17:00.000-07:002012-03-09T06:17:04.669-07:00Is It Friday Again?If you all are truly wondering where the great tales of EGB and Lil B are.....they're sucked into a vortex. A black hole of sleeplessness.<br />
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We're busy dammit! And Lil B hasn't figured out how to sleep. I've been telling him it's not hard. Just close your eyes and do it. He's messing with me. When he gets it you'll know because I'll be back as the blogging matador that I once was.<br />
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Fight the power y'all<br />
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Rock a smile from time to time. <br />
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Make someone read you a book and then stare at them. <br />
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If you get one phone call from me. Answer it. I'll tell you a story or two.<br />
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Until then.....<br />
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Kick out the JAMS it's Friday! I'm possessed by warm milk and cookies!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRnA7tnRp93BVUo2c5YMoaMGa1ECsfAI0pfEnewnYYF3PGTgEmYnslgFptAScNUhQcwZWJhdqrnxCqv1ECLVFOhXfgKzxucKpbVa7m95q2dKrI_ZcrfE-B6Le_KMGVoAbUT24dm5jhoMi/s1600/P1000726.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoRnA7tnRp93BVUo2c5YMoaMGa1ECsfAI0pfEnewnYYF3PGTgEmYnslgFptAScNUhQcwZWJhdqrnxCqv1ECLVFOhXfgKzxucKpbVa7m95q2dKrI_ZcrfE-B6Le_KMGVoAbUT24dm5jhoMi/s640/P1000726.JPG" width="480" /></a></div> Am I the only one that's normal around here? I just want to chill. Pee in my diaper and just relax. Maybe read a book or two. That's all. This whole scene is crazy.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM67mXBZVrwvVCKOOP5-oQJc-ciAi1VsetMlm0XmjNEVzATm06dOIkL41EvzbMFxBTzex1kI5dciNgdygBQNuUbR3qJtbd1m2MlGNCNHJ29tAmRCjTFVmi9KdBkNsXLfz5R8GNFpad_NBl/s1600/P1000708.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM67mXBZVrwvVCKOOP5-oQJc-ciAi1VsetMlm0XmjNEVzATm06dOIkL41EvzbMFxBTzex1kI5dciNgdygBQNuUbR3qJtbd1m2MlGNCNHJ29tAmRCjTFVmi9KdBkNsXLfz5R8GNFpad_NBl/s640/P1000708.JPG" width="480" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ok. Thanks for the book, but did you really have to throw in the part about flying monkeys that like to eat babies for breakfast? Huh? Now, I can't sleep and mommy and daddy are gonna be mad as hell. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3GXrNlr-A8_16QlwyQgDJHRtXuUi9Hl9lM4xS32bn1CU9LEcdazcFd98jtjc_L4ha9Q61fsqaFZGGfMrJZYt3GoCXXlHKhWKihAqPe8deeIY6y4Ph6gLNPTJ3Wpw9llKz1TdzY5feczc6/s1600/P1000767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3GXrNlr-A8_16QlwyQgDJHRtXuUi9Hl9lM4xS32bn1CU9LEcdazcFd98jtjc_L4ha9Q61fsqaFZGGfMrJZYt3GoCXXlHKhWKihAqPe8deeIY6y4Ph6gLNPTJ3Wpw9llKz1TdzY5feczc6/s640/P1000767.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc86rH9q9AxtQeM-1W4ohpXv8zZwlwvWO0zIOGq-4emRdafXJ2k1OYnkGHXqfnpDPqwtQE-CtCiK0Py-8BQnpovQuLgpKo7lC6ubb1dyBnVYexzgJaz7DZusFYux4fYpMbkHZiu5iOjG3e/s1600/P1000767.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgc86rH9q9AxtQeM-1W4ohpXv8zZwlwvWO0zIOGq-4emRdafXJ2k1OYnkGHXqfnpDPqwtQE-CtCiK0Py-8BQnpovQuLgpKo7lC6ubb1dyBnVYexzgJaz7DZusFYux4fYpMbkHZiu5iOjG3e/s320/P1000767.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-85030037316823348112012-02-11T10:51:00.001-07:002012-02-11T10:56:38.037-07:00Boom!It's storytime, y'all.<br />
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We've been through battle...the homecoming is near. You're going to be floored on the stories I've got to tell.<br />
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Until then you'll have to be appeased by the EGB's storytelling delights. Kids from all over the world have been flocking to our house at all hours of the day to hear the Great EGB and her story telling. Just last night at 3AM, I had to tell this 2 year old Estonian kid to turn around and go home. I can't be having this type of interruption. Nor can the EGB or Baby B. They got brain cells to grow.<br />
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Pull up a chair, grab a box of tissues, and maybe some raisinets or a grilled cheese. You're going to go on a magical ride like you've never been on before. Bring your tickets and welcome to the 4th dimension.<br />
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Oh, in case you're wondering who "Darla" is...she's the EGB's alter-ego and sometimes nemesis. Darla tells good stories, but also flushes socks down the toilet. Darla will kiss you with the touch of a butterfly and at the same time prison shank you with a sharpened toothbrush. She's the best of both worlds. If you see Darla, give her a quick high-five, then run. It's for the best.<br />
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Parenting is quite the polarizing experience, huh? <br />
<br />
And now presenting, "Darla and EGB Tell the Tales of Dora and Some Other Monsters"<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="550" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/BKuwufHulbY" width="500"></iframe>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-20613870144817809722012-01-13T06:04:00.002-07:002012-01-13T09:51:27.318-07:00Weekend Warriors UniteFor those of you with kids and are not too old to remember when your kids were little....Do you remember when Friday meant something? You know what I mean. Cruising home from work. Maybe hit a happy hour. Holler at your people and see what's going down for the weekend. The work week just melts away and you're ready to do whatever you damn well please.<br />
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You do? I don't remember jack. Fridays now are more like...don't have to go to work so I'll likely be changing more diapers this weekend. Oooh, can't wait to run to Target to get some ill thought out plastic Chinese toy for some little fart's birthday party we're heading to. Maybe I'll get a chance to sleep into 4 AM. Life is real weird now.<br />
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It ain't so bad. My family is relatively cool. They could have been child rock stars which would have made the weekends really fun. Actually, little kid's rock concerts are extra weird, so scratch that vision. They could have jobs and be really really tall so they could do housework and bring in cash. Now that would make this fun. Time to get some ROI out of these young-uns. When is it too early to have the kids paint the house and mow the grass? 4?<br />
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You know who is going to have the most fun this weekend? You guessed it. The legendary party animal. The one banned from preschools all across the country. Wears disguises to pizza buffets. Drinks kegs of juice. Pours milk on her head. Poops in the yard. Sleeps in the driveway. Combs her hair with a blender. Spits fire at computers. Fights cats and grown men.<br />
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The most fun-loving 365 days-a-year weekend warrior. The one spoken about in hushed tones around the world. Don't say her name too loud or she'll break out of her cage and bite your ass. The EGB!!!!<br />
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Where my party people at? <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0y8i_nlucW5fCGVBgiMPLYpuO1r57Ko2jru6rVOJDdmgaFaDQ4jZFvyvmEwZk6cHL2NBI-IaoNz1gK8HsOeqpixb6yJMkGO-8sw9NYNY3mZTTEZNwqEsupgbQryvqTqs37iOiJ5uuxaQA/s1600/P1000643.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0y8i_nlucW5fCGVBgiMPLYpuO1r57Ko2jru6rVOJDdmgaFaDQ4jZFvyvmEwZk6cHL2NBI-IaoNz1gK8HsOeqpixb6yJMkGO-8sw9NYNY3mZTTEZNwqEsupgbQryvqTqs37iOiJ5uuxaQA/s640/P1000643.JPG" width="480" /></a></div> EGB, by the way, oh so subtly resembles the great weekend warriors of our time. EGB has most definitely channeled, the one-and-only, Mr. James Brown. I heard EGB singing "I feel good! I knew that I would. Until I get thrown in time out! I feeeeeeel goooooood!"<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZR03_U_Yv87jL9TLMC9ykaaJNC8BBWrIP5W65lyK9EF1Qs3ZJ5AND7cCPBa7QuSR6UxEvtwuy4bIgoqi23GxiwseoBjUDr-IicLwj_0OqENZ7_4leFWZ-Uxa_A30_ni6mHmnaqDZNj24S/s1600/brown.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="382" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZR03_U_Yv87jL9TLMC9ykaaJNC8BBWrIP5W65lyK9EF1Qs3ZJ5AND7cCPBa7QuSR6UxEvtwuy4bIgoqi23GxiwseoBjUDr-IicLwj_0OqENZ7_4leFWZ-Uxa_A30_ni6mHmnaqDZNj24S/s400/brown.jpg" width="400" /></a></div> There is also an uncanny resemblance between the legendary EGB and the equally legendary Nick Nolte, whom despite this really comfortable and loving shirt likely made from a patchwork of Wendy's Jazz Caps and Jams, was not feeling so good after his bender. I'm not sure how the EGB has located the spirits of Brown and Nolte as we feed her peas and read her Clifford. She must have some secret stealth internet connection somewhere. I'm calling the po-po on her.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6bp0sQQ1wQt4BK0MvmPUYabHJJHtcUOMMD1V4vU6z73TcGyrS5EIq2t5I0sbvfrjBqpq8AMxx9gP9Kek3Fdg-fdZLSO1QAm8tTSAh0KMGiDrXJERBxgVEarduBwMX_STnML_9dbyOmKvU/s1600/noltemug.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="425" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6bp0sQQ1wQt4BK0MvmPUYabHJJHtcUOMMD1V4vU6z73TcGyrS5EIq2t5I0sbvfrjBqpq8AMxx9gP9Kek3Fdg-fdZLSO1QAm8tTSAh0KMGiDrXJERBxgVEarduBwMX_STnML_9dbyOmKvU/s640/noltemug.jpg" width="640" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Umm. Wait a second. This is my life? Like this is my family? My sister? I'm stuck with you farm animals? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Oh. Hell. No. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I'm out. I want a reassignment. Maybe a nice normal crew that goes to Chili's on Friday...maybe hits the playground on Saturday. Maybe by an ocean or something. Where's the return department up in this bitch?</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3CEWO2sl72FaQ3OScGr3BlCBDM02kqrC6ku5lou44k4oiGqFgM4ybiRwKkPpD8CY0su_xQeTtGWYy7cYXFEwBWVDzRUoxCbZ2LklHnVtMt1Gjl9wCg902lq70w-f3Y2zbCd-oSeopkUwD/s1600/P1000639.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3CEWO2sl72FaQ3OScGr3BlCBDM02kqrC6ku5lou44k4oiGqFgM4ybiRwKkPpD8CY0su_xQeTtGWYy7cYXFEwBWVDzRUoxCbZ2LklHnVtMt1Gjl9wCg902lq70w-f3Y2zbCd-oSeopkUwD/s640/P1000639.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-78480583966505259192012-01-05T06:28:00.000-07:002012-01-05T06:28:44.937-07:00Tell Em Whatcha Name IsFirst of all, Happy New Year. I've been living in a bubble, 1 mile under the surface of the ocean with no Internet. So stop yelling at me. I can't blog at you in a bubble, man. I just came up for air, but realized my threads are really dirty and my kids need baths. I'll get back to you with the many stories of the underworld....<br />
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Until then. Little B wants to tell ya what his name is. <br />
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Thanks to Aunt Rebel, Uncle Chicago Dave, Cuzin Pirate Ike, and Cuz Franny Fran for helping me spell my long ass name.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I have a feeling I have a long life ahead of me with this punk fuzzball trying to steal my thunder. Yeah, everyone knows your damn name already. If I had any hand coordination I'd shred that stupid paper on my table. Go back to the forest where you came from you stanky gnome. It's my time to shine! And put some pants on, this is the Internet yo!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPO2e4U0HfPM7ycHpF2ZIMkDBuZTShMsAzL3TBdRPKaZDxtodZ6-isspT7jkMWmwKEb-4rwMwVAKHE3IX2AhEcJ21ft1hwU3aPSDCyhX8hUssN47z3b47cWh3woDNNi5OTcZEbL1d8PsyX/s1600/P1000627.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPO2e4U0HfPM7ycHpF2ZIMkDBuZTShMsAzL3TBdRPKaZDxtodZ6-isspT7jkMWmwKEb-4rwMwVAKHE3IX2AhEcJ21ft1hwU3aPSDCyhX8hUssN47z3b47cWh3woDNNi5OTcZEbL1d8PsyX/s640/P1000627.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-31011390000788563722011-12-16T06:04:00.000-07:002011-12-16T06:04:05.936-07:00Happy Friday!It's Friday. At this time of year everyday feels like Friday is around the corner. No rules.<br />
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Rubber boots, underpants, in the basement, wild mane...party time.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYZWYMa7UXyb5fPQcZz68KmDkwST6cEPJDLw1LVpw6iSrBTZR6Y3Ea6dIRqWY715T_4QHz45-LEPgZfZcQ1SIWJ17nwFKSCegO7wQ8HSKiPZlnAQN-3f9RmfjMEqeavE2rMzKNuu2DiV5/s1600/P1000382.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOYZWYMa7UXyb5fPQcZz68KmDkwST6cEPJDLw1LVpw6iSrBTZR6Y3Ea6dIRqWY715T_4QHz45-LEPgZfZcQ1SIWJ17nwFKSCegO7wQ8HSKiPZlnAQN-3f9RmfjMEqeavE2rMzKNuu2DiV5/s640/P1000382.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-24223010369435889902011-12-01T22:11:00.000-07:002011-12-01T22:11:51.754-07:00Wow. 2 Months Down.One post in November. Two posts in October. That means it's December and I haven't shared squat. That also means that I got run over by a yellow bus full of diapers and wipes and cranky animals.<br />
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Truly, this is a little crazy. I mean somehow two months pass by and I really don't know what happened. I'm not sure if this is ok or not. What if something really sweet happened and I couldn't remember it. Or what if it was like that movie <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0209144/" target="_blank">Memento</a> where things happened in reverse. The nonlinear narrative in both this movie and my post Baby B arrival really messes with my head. Things were going forward in real time, but really working backwards. This never made sense to me. As if counting from one to ten somehow got you back to one. See what I mean? This is all crazy.<br />
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The guy in Memento's memory was all jacked up too. I think he burned his wife's name on his arm and got tattoos so he'd remember things. Contrary to the Dairy Queen's desire that I remember to do laundry, buy diapers, and not stack dishes, I haven't gone to such great lengths to get my memory on. I do have scrap paper and scribbles. Not really sure why, but I think it may have something to do with commoditizing memories. As if without the action of writing memories down, which forces reflection, they don't exist. Or if they do, they fall short of their potential value. It's a need to develop a currency of sorts that is ascribed to the abstractions of memories. It's like if someone told you to go to the table to get some cookies, but when you get there it's just a bag of flour, sugar, chocolate chips, butter, brown sugar, and eggs. What comes first?<br />
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That's the disconnect. Memories, which are the products of actions, occur in a logical forward moving timeline. Actions occur. Memories are made. But since actions must occur post-memory to give the previous actions real value, we are running nonlinear. We again go backwards to go forward. <br />
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I believe that I reflect in hopes that there is some order to all this. In hopes that I don't forget, but all the while knowing that I will. Therein lies the mystery, why we do things even if we know that we'll never truly succeed? No matter how much we note, jot, write, reflect, photograph--we'll never remember it all. It's too much. And really we'd have no time for action to make the memories to reflect if we spent all the time in reflection. But we'll keep trying. It's a balance. So far, having children is mostly action. A whole lot of action. Action on top of action. Action. So bare with me and have mercy on my weary reflective self. I'll keep noting as the notes are fading and some things will just get lost, but never forever. Just like we were all 3 at one time, but have long forgotten. They're all just ingredients along the way anyway.<br />
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Well...that was pretty light, huh? Let's talk about what's really going on. <br />
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The other day EGB said, "Daddy, I gotta wash my hand."<br />
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"Why?" I asked.<br />
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"Because I put my hand in my butt." <br />
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Yup. That's some keeping it real up in our house. Got a 2 month old mountain baby, BB, doing what he does best--blowing out diapers, ripping monster farts and burps, and sleeping whenever he damn feels like it. Sounds like some man-luxury living going on. Generally speaking he's the most chill animal in our house these days. In the constant tornado siren of life with toddlers, uncertain expectations, work pressures, political chaos, BB seems to have it all figured out--<i>stay close to those you love and it will all have a way of working out.</i><br />
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Babies are Buddhas. Albeit aggressive sucking Buddhas, but Buddhas nonetheless. It just takes us old people time to look that far back to figure out how to best move forward. Thanks babies. You deserve more credit.<br />
<br />
My head is on fire. Get me a wig so I don't get burnt. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglJdIFzxEhjlO_GDw_0QPEQRgZ2hWN2hSGGXP5XHDh0pfxD9S5ilc76QopoQHMKH2F5Kmoi9kUWMNVGnRK3jTQRJmM7ckox9tlW9Jn7KzjLeDBQgEjK4LchY6DTsKshTuJKhi4p-7TQkOv/s1600/P1000342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglJdIFzxEhjlO_GDw_0QPEQRgZ2hWN2hSGGXP5XHDh0pfxD9S5ilc76QopoQHMKH2F5Kmoi9kUWMNVGnRK3jTQRJmM7ckox9tlW9Jn7KzjLeDBQgEjK4LchY6DTsKshTuJKhi4p-7TQkOv/s640/P1000342.JPG" width="480" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ummm. What is this? I'm not really sure I'm down with this whole additional life form up in my mix. We had a pretty good thing going didn't we? Why you gotta mess it up? </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEjNu9-w3yvkncs05ghKZLWqAvVvy8y1Xgu4Ompl5i120GaFp_YbEqdQI_xnwDNSczN1rVcNKx1E3MKyyTd7faWAJwpmifuUwrWUZq_XBeXWhEV-pvs_hTmVqNjxLP1-MCN5ZniMfpQhRi/s1600/IMAG0561.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEjNu9-w3yvkncs05ghKZLWqAvVvy8y1Xgu4Ompl5i120GaFp_YbEqdQI_xnwDNSczN1rVcNKx1E3MKyyTd7faWAJwpmifuUwrWUZq_XBeXWhEV-pvs_hTmVqNjxLP1-MCN5ZniMfpQhRi/s640/IMAG0561.jpg" width="382" /></a></div>What?! Wait a second. He comes with cake? Day-ummmmmm! Oh, ok. Little Baby B is alright by me. Can you guys have another one?<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4ZkmvAXVfU_8j3qFHfZ6ASaBT_yx6U_bbrBk_VMf8dHKIM45xoGsUjtTQ5gVr6_khUHdUFK7pc7gW46Gqf8-MLzYBWfy1oy0SaL1GYPgQ3AnaSaXMWvqrPt-3Ut-o7SwdyQvy-cpGVNi/s1600/IMAG0564.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="380" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo4ZkmvAXVfU_8j3qFHfZ6ASaBT_yx6U_bbrBk_VMf8dHKIM45xoGsUjtTQ5gVr6_khUHdUFK7pc7gW46Gqf8-MLzYBWfy1oy0SaL1GYPgQ3AnaSaXMWvqrPt-3Ut-o7SwdyQvy-cpGVNi/s640/IMAG0564.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>If you bring cake I got nuthin but love for ya, little man. Love and family. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwCVd4K7IwhOoXGuCMtRsiDLegWpvWlzWsovEDiqH5vH1Jcr5u_cZ1O6-XIlj5W-_j11z-n7FXNC5qs-C5LxBhAMisWPkVd4_kUxDVsvAMCvYZ8vNoTvuFLxldgn_nUGoFtXJhkrh-NZg/s1600/IMAG0556.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCwCVd4K7IwhOoXGuCMtRsiDLegWpvWlzWsovEDiqH5vH1Jcr5u_cZ1O6-XIlj5W-_j11z-n7FXNC5qs-C5LxBhAMisWPkVd4_kUxDVsvAMCvYZ8vNoTvuFLxldgn_nUGoFtXJhkrh-NZg/s640/IMAG0556.jpg" width="382" /></a></div>This is how we do it. Triple threat. EGB will marker you up and jam you with crayons. BB will camel squirt milk in your eyes. Calvin will slowly stunt you with his funky breath. We're super heros. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3A8bX16G-4yoVL4gBoQUUwZ0mL_9MOlQ-kSbBmfKwh8I-V__y_GbonW3wBM6Y7fTOXD5B4Anv1YTw6xUddvnkn912nLwoqsgVE_8DLM4OvOrBW0kK6rDhhdqFCGskdSLmv3Hu88yglMew/s1600/P1000348.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3A8bX16G-4yoVL4gBoQUUwZ0mL_9MOlQ-kSbBmfKwh8I-V__y_GbonW3wBM6Y7fTOXD5B4Anv1YTw6xUddvnkn912nLwoqsgVE_8DLM4OvOrBW0kK6rDhhdqFCGskdSLmv3Hu88yglMew/s640/P1000348.JPG" width="480" /></a></div>Oh no. Definitely NOT the left boob. I distinctly remember extracting from the left. It's time for the right. Raise me up please. I need some life force.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-ei1Nokq0l8sljZLU6lpdFDKa_dkyoABDEivDjyEc3LkstK3xgjRHxpv8wXqpyKCSDBizqVecbOZcUsp9H7psBEkf5Z-WpPNq0EZZkJMwZYAk-oM7O9LnfnT9f4IblzGYTdwoeQKbqli/s1600/P1000322.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiu-ei1Nokq0l8sljZLU6lpdFDKa_dkyoABDEivDjyEc3LkstK3xgjRHxpv8wXqpyKCSDBizqVecbOZcUsp9H7psBEkf5Z-WpPNq0EZZkJMwZYAk-oM7O9LnfnT9f4IblzGYTdwoeQKbqli/s640/P1000322.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> Staying close is the only way we'll survive our captors. They make us eat green stuff. Grow quickly so I can put you on my shoulders to snag those M&Ms on the top shelf.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaIsPkXmUDgbgAj0UZYjzafRnKDZcXVi_lV6cKlCPNlNJmH76KA2NnXBnVf3ySR_jt57qk27LcPiictMab1jASVKYudet2Hhgr36HW2zRgOEEoPBssQYIUJLKNe0n_BXUxnpqh46kD8-S/s1600/P1000338.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVaIsPkXmUDgbgAj0UZYjzafRnKDZcXVi_lV6cKlCPNlNJmH76KA2NnXBnVf3ySR_jt57qk27LcPiictMab1jASVKYudet2Hhgr36HW2zRgOEEoPBssQYIUJLKNe0n_BXUxnpqh46kD8-S/s640/P1000338.JPG" width="480" /></a></div> Fly your curlz girlz. If they are matted then put some butter and wind in there. That'll free em up.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6nmrMebiHYURtUhPshwXSWngzfInO_-FiZzG3DckeFUgKKI6r9J9nEIjHlRKGP5_uJ5CQFfEhjGqfUN-ZuyGEsFhbiN67Z3gzW8vRDd80b890yCJLnxJagEgjxA4KtYAg-WqvPl7RfGQ/s1600/P1000355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_6nmrMebiHYURtUhPshwXSWngzfInO_-FiZzG3DckeFUgKKI6r9J9nEIjHlRKGP5_uJ5CQFfEhjGqfUN-ZuyGEsFhbiN67Z3gzW8vRDd80b890yCJLnxJagEgjxA4KtYAg-WqvPl7RfGQ/s640/P1000355.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> Look little punk. I know you think you're all hot and stuff, but there is only one princess in this castle. Don't get smart and go thinking something else.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP4zYXb1YMB5tiApoW2Jgdu9eh84WxXCK3TrqymeYVReL20hbvMVt2Im7vqUqiLwRYV-vgZHy727oTqjhiu3wrH7jXKniHvAU7TqgzNw162gvXmdbQz0VhAjY0_N78oL6Oxkjf8TL3bLn_/s1600/P1000250.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiP4zYXb1YMB5tiApoW2Jgdu9eh84WxXCK3TrqymeYVReL20hbvMVt2Im7vqUqiLwRYV-vgZHy727oTqjhiu3wrH7jXKniHvAU7TqgzNw162gvXmdbQz0VhAjY0_N78oL6Oxkjf8TL3bLn_/s640/P1000250.JPG" width="480" /></a></div> Dang you're in the pen? I'll post your bail. I hope they take pebbles and dog poop.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85zbs1qpqDE1V-3F2H0LkUbtdyRKdVQkTUtjSzmvlPeb7peOZOLif3h86RLEqeq7tZHjef8U0SfLLue1EgA0j6nMDwXVrmGHB1NcySMFK9_U0UNolTSWEb-3GbeVBCsEcJKgUnSBI5VKO/s1600/P1000269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj85zbs1qpqDE1V-3F2H0LkUbtdyRKdVQkTUtjSzmvlPeb7peOZOLif3h86RLEqeq7tZHjef8U0SfLLue1EgA0j6nMDwXVrmGHB1NcySMFK9_U0UNolTSWEb-3GbeVBCsEcJKgUnSBI5VKO/s640/P1000269.JPG" width="640" /></a></div> Stay close.....it'll work out.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbaOdoN9a4Yo6EzYN_wOb8WyOhEtjaqgMSylpv9H4UtxEUYL-hKbNAriBbTd_DDXPQZ_2FoyqbHV8VRRnGMt4tMGNcSh1SJ3TO1qINg8TZHL90pg10b73LNroiu4Djce4YDoeCK52ldm9/s1600/2011-10-16_10-23-51_817.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbaOdoN9a4Yo6EzYN_wOb8WyOhEtjaqgMSylpv9H4UtxEUYL-hKbNAriBbTd_DDXPQZ_2FoyqbHV8VRRnGMt4tMGNcSh1SJ3TO1qINg8TZHL90pg10b73LNroiu4Djce4YDoeCK52ldm9/s640/2011-10-16_10-23-51_817.jpg" width="360" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> More to say. More to come. My note pad grows.....<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5061514620217971981.post-31687250377295691162011-11-18T06:23:00.000-07:002011-11-18T06:23:14.724-07:00Happy Friday or ElseWe're holding it down. Seriously. Times are real weird right now.....my brother is messin' up my program. It's time for some changes. <br />
<br />
EGB is gonna start regulating.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxvz2djfNge4Y5MOYd-Pov6lvjRkHFG1mJSeOPEyY9fAr20KqxT9zhF0t28058VScVQBUagKBYEmcLJb0iapErz83FONOpCTLNRoeAShTheCoxtKc0N20F4yzL-Tii3VNFXpV_z0bkN5S/s1600/2011-11-06_13-41-37_842.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZxvz2djfNge4Y5MOYd-Pov6lvjRkHFG1mJSeOPEyY9fAr20KqxT9zhF0t28058VScVQBUagKBYEmcLJb0iapErz83FONOpCTLNRoeAShTheCoxtKc0N20F4yzL-Tii3VNFXpV_z0bkN5S/s640/2011-11-06_13-41-37_842.jpg" width="360" /></a></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0