<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322</id><updated>2012-02-16T19:54:33.733-08:00</updated><category term='pickles'/><category term='2010 Honda Accord'/><category term='Soft Drink'/><category term='Sponsors'/><category term='running'/><category term='Sprite'/><category term='Cubs'/><category term='phones'/><category term='Red Sox'/><category term='Wrigleyville'/><category term='Soda-pop'/><category term='Car'/><category term='Nike'/><category term='Tiger Woods'/><category term='Goals'/><category term='texting'/><category term='Dumb mother'/><category term='lunch'/><title type='text'>What a life!</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>74</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-581406163871488849</id><published>2011-09-19T12:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-09-19T12:53:46.867-07:00</updated><title type='text'>So Screwed</title><content type='html'>We had lunch yesterday at one of my favorite restaurants. We don't go there often because it's an hour away. I didn't know it was the type of place to serve a fancy Sunday brunch, but we were hungry and all the other food is good there, so we dove in and ate the buffet. I was enjoying the mashed potatoes-one of my most favorite foods-when I bit into something hard. Of course, I spit it out, right onto to my plate (because I'm classy like that) when it made a loud clank! I had bitten into a screw. It wasn't a long screw, it was one of the short fat ones, but a screw nonetheless. I kept feeling my teeth to make sure I didn't chip one..I didn't. Good thing it was mashed potatoes so I wasn't chewing too vigorously. The manager came over and apologized for it. I wasn't a crab-ass or anything, I understand things happen. If I had been feeding my child and that happened, I'd be irate. Or if I did chip a tooth. Our meal was comped and I left hungry. I was grossed out and couldn't eat anymore. Apparently, the screw came off the mixer that they used for the potatoes. I would think they'd notice a piece of the mixer was gone, but I guess not. Now I wonder, how dirty was that screw I almost ate???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-581406163871488849?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/581406163871488849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2011/09/so-screwed.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/581406163871488849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/581406163871488849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2011/09/so-screwed.html' title='So Screwed'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-4994305450702606338</id><published>2011-05-13T10:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-13T11:06:54.714-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Back!</title><content type='html'>I haven't written in awhile because I've been busy. I'm sure I've disappointed all nine people who follow me. A lot has happened in the last few months. I had a baby and basically fell off the face of the earth. I guess I could have blogged while I was maternity leave because I was bored to tears! All day long, I sat and stared at my baby. I talked to him, read him books, and showed him all his toys. I would do that for a few hours a day because he slept the rest of it. I was told to relax, so I did. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was reading a few of my old blogs to see where I left off. I can't believe I wrote about not being able to gain weight. I think I jinxed myself! Once I started to gain, I couldn't stop! I was hungry ALL THE TIME. I was carrying a big baby though, 9 pounds 5 ounces. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll need to keep writing. I have forgotten how much I liked it. The next time something interesting happens, I'll write.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-4994305450702606338?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/4994305450702606338/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2011/05/im-back.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4994305450702606338'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4994305450702606338'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2011/05/im-back.html' title='I&apos;m Back!'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-4570004647465740370</id><published>2010-12-17T11:01:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-17T11:17:49.343-08:00</updated><title type='text'>3.5 hours at the lab</title><content type='html'>On Wednesday, I had to take the 3 hour glucose test to check to see if I would have gestational diabetes. It basically checks to see how well your body tolerates all the sugar. Not all pregnant woman have to have it done, but I was one of the unlucky ones. I failed my normal glucose test the week before, so I had to go do this one. I couldn't eat or drink anything for 12 hours prior. When I got there, I peed in a cup, got my blood drawn, drank the nasty sugar water drink, then sat for an hour. Each hour after that, I had to have my blood drawn. I brought my computer so I could work while sitting in the lobby. I was interrupted multiple times by people talking about the weather (yes, it's cold, and snowing, I KNOW), the smell of old people diapers, and singing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I forgot to bring my ipod, shame on me, so I was forced to listen to everyone, including the guy who sang love songs from his ipod while humping his girlfriends butt and dancing. They were standing in line to get checked in, he was standing behind her cuddling her in a most inappropriate way. It was a long line too and they were at the end. He sang all the way to the front of the line, while his girlfriend was getting checked in, and then while they sat and waited. I was hoping all the evil looks I was sending his way would be enough to get him to be quiet, but it wasn't. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was already irritable from being hungry and thirsty. Then to top it off, I was having my blood drawn multiple times. Somehow, I managed to keep my cool, and continued to work. I knew if I said something, his girlfriend would probably have freaked out on me, or they would have been waiting for me at my car. I didn't want that, I'm too pregnant to run fast.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-4570004647465740370?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/4570004647465740370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/12/35-hours-at-lab.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4570004647465740370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4570004647465740370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/12/35-hours-at-lab.html' title='3.5 hours at the lab'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-8374132627472383513</id><published>2010-10-13T15:00:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-13T15:14:45.814-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='pickles'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lunch'/><title type='text'>My lunch</title><content type='html'>We are having our annual conference right now, and I got volunteered to work. I have to sit through talks, open the door when it's over, and take comment cards. I'm very important, I know. I signed up for the lunch, since I don't turn down free food, and I knew I'd be starving, because I always am. I didn't know what we'd be served, but last year, we had deli meat sandwiches, so I guessed it would be the same thing. I was right. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a long list of things pregnant woman can't eat, drink, or enjoy while pregnant. I don't mind, but today, I really wanted that deli meat sandwich. Deli meat is on the no-no list. If you want to know why, go here: http://www.americanpregnancy.org/pregnancycomplications/listeria.html I put cheese and lettuce on a croissant, and pretended I was eating a lovely turkey sandwich. I also ate fruit, pasta salad, and pickles. Lots and lots of pickles. I'm not eating the pickles because of a pregnancy craving, but because they are good pickles. I don't know what it is about restaurant pickles, but they are so much better than store bought ones. I also had a tiny bowl of chili. It didn't have beans in it, so I enjoyed it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-8374132627472383513?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/8374132627472383513/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/10/my-lunch.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8374132627472383513'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8374132627472383513'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/10/my-lunch.html' title='My lunch'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-196848332890283702</id><published>2010-09-16T08:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-16T08:44:10.819-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Peeing Update</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, my back, abs, and hips hurt to the point that I could no longer sit in my chair at work. I went home and worked from the comfort of my own couch, while laying on a heating pad. I found that the warmth of the heating pad made me go pee so much more! It didn't help come bedtime, because I still woke up to go. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I brought my heating pad with me to work today, but I haven't peed yet. Shocking since I've already downed a couple glasses of water. I think my body is afraid to use public toilets. At least the ones here at work. They are always filled with W.P.'s. What is a W.P. you ask? It stands for Work Pooper. Actually, the 'W' stands for the place I work for, but I don't want to publicly tell on these people. After someone makes the bathroom unbearable, I look them up on the company directory and mentally note not to go into the bathroom if I see them go into or leave it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My poor bladder has to suffer because people can't wait until they get home to do their business.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-196848332890283702?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/196848332890283702/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/09/peeing-update.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/196848332890283702'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/196848332890283702'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/09/peeing-update.html' title='Peeing Update'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-30358692248726232</id><published>2010-09-13T11:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-13T11:17:12.592-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What a fattie</title><content type='html'>For the first time in my life, I have a belly. It sticks out and I rub it, and pat it all the time. I call it: My little Buddha. According to "What to expect when you're expecting" I should gain a pound a week for the rest of pregnancy. Which makes complete sense since I have 25 weeks left and I should gain 25-35 pounds overall.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm having a problem becoming a little piglet. I thought gaining weight would be the easiest part of pregnancy. It's not. My baby hates sugar and fried food, I think. Anytime I eat either, I throw up. I have been eating sugar, but teeny tiny bits at a time. Once, I ate half a box of nilla wafers and spent the rest of the day half dead in the bathroom. The baby didn't like that much. The same thing happened when I ate twizzlers. I haven't gotten sick in over a week, so I thought I'd be able to gain a pound this week...NO...I lost a pound! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The baby loves apples though. Green granny smith apples are it's favorite. I wonder how many of those I'd need to eat to gain a pound? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must be going now. I have to eat a snack!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-30358692248726232?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/30358692248726232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/09/what-fattie.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/30358692248726232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/30358692248726232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/09/what-fattie.html' title='What a fattie'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-5936568409279762768</id><published>2010-09-10T08:17:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-10T08:19:12.317-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rules</title><content type='html'>Earlier this year, when my cousin was pregnant, she received a 'funny' email and decided to pass it along. I saved it for future reference and decided to post it here. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear Non-Pregnant Person,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you find these guidelines helpful in your interactions with pregnant women, as failing to follow them may result in serious physical harm. If you are thinking, surely she doesn’t mean me – then you should probably read this twice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. The appropriate response to a couple telling you they are having a baby is ‘Congratulations!’ with enthusiasm. Any other response makes you a jerk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Through the wonders of science, we now know that babies are made ONLY by the mother and father – not grandparents. Unless the baby is in your uterus or you are the man that helped put it there, you may not ever use the phrase ‘my baby’.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. On the same note, unless you made the baby as defined in 2, the pregnancy, birth, and raising of the child are not about you. You do not have input. No one wants to hear your opinion unless they ask for it…&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The body of a pregnant woman should be treated the same as any other body. You would not randomly touch someone’s stomach if they were not pregnant, nor would you inquire into the condition of their uterus, cervix, or how they plan to use their breasts. Pregnancy does not remove all traces of privacy from a woman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Likewise, no woman wants to hear comments on her weight…ever. A pregnant woman does not find it flattering that you think she is about is pop, must be having twins, looks swollen or has gained weight in her face. Telling her she looks too small only makes her worry that she is somehow starving her baby. Making such comments invite her to critique your physical appearance and you may not act offended. The only acceptable comment on appearance is ‘You look fabulous!’.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. By the time we are 20-30 years old, most of us have picked up on the fact that the summer is hot. We are hot every summer when we are not pregnant. We don’t need you to point out that we will be miserably hot before the baby comes. Nor do we need to know how badly you will feel for us because we will be pregnant during the summer and how glad you are that YOU will not be pregnant this coming summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. There is a reason that tickets to Labor &amp; Delivery are not yet sold on Ticketmaster. Childbirth is actually not a public event. It may sound crazy, but some women really do not relish the idea of their mother, MIL, or a host of other family members seeing their bare butt and genitals. Also, some people simply feel like the birth of their child is a private and emotional moment to be shared only by the parents. You weren’t invited to be there when the baby was created, you probably won’t be invited to be there when it comes out either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Like everything else in life, unless you receive an invitation, you are NOT invited. This includes doctor appointments, ultrasounds, labor, delivery, the hospital, and the parent’s home. You do not decide if you will be there for the birth or if you will move in with the new parents to ‘help out’. If your assistance is desired, rest assured that you will be asked for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. If you are asked to help after the birth, this means you should clean up the house, help with cooking meals, and generally stay out of the way. Holding the baby more than the parents, interfering with breastfeeding and sleeping schedules, and making a woman who is still leaking fluid from multiple locations lift a finger in housework is not helping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. The only people entitled to time with the baby are the parents. Whether they choose to have you at the hospital for the birth or ask for you to wait three weeks to visit, appreciate that you are being given the privilege of seeing their child. Complaining or showing disappointment only encourages the parents to include you less.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All the Pregnant Women in the World&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-5936568409279762768?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/5936568409279762768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/09/rules.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5936568409279762768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5936568409279762768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/09/rules.html' title='Rules'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-3025448687600186296</id><published>2010-09-08T12:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-08T12:43:02.248-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gotta go potty</title><content type='html'>I haven't written in awhile because I'm too tired...all the time. That's what happens when you get pregnant! I've been told to write about my pregnancy, so I'll share little tidbits here and there. As of today, I'm 14 weeks and 1 day pregnant. I was hoping to miss all the pregnancy symptoms, but they have hit me like a ton of bricks. I read what's going on week by week and what typically happens. At first, I'd read it, and think 'YAY! I don't have that symptom', then a few days later, it would appear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, I want to tell you about all my many bathroom trips. I don't think my lemon sized baby is big enough to affect my bladder yet, but I still have to pee...constantly. Right before I sat down to write this post, I was busy walking to various peoples offices and I thought I was going to pee myself. I was expecting a 2 minute pee, but no, it was a tiny bit. Here's what I think my body is doing. First of all, I wake up every single night because I am in pain because my bladder is so full, and then I have to get out of bed to pee. My body must be saving up all the pee for night time. Somehow, it wants me to be miserable when I sleep. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's only one of the very fun aspects of being preggers! There's more to come.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-3025448687600186296?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/3025448687600186296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/09/gotta-go-potty.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3025448687600186296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3025448687600186296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/09/gotta-go-potty.html' title='Gotta go potty'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-80761381899413344</id><published>2010-07-30T07:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-30T07:22:46.152-07:00</updated><title type='text'>How old do I look?</title><content type='html'>I always find it humorous when people can't guess my age. I might not look 25, but I certainly don't look like I'm in high school. Here's the conversation I had with two women who came into the restaurant Tuesday night. I don't know why, but some people are very interested in my life. I must look mysterious as well as young. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Woman 1: So, are you still in school?&lt;br /&gt;Me: No, actually I graduated 2 years ago.&lt;br /&gt;Woman 2: You aren't going to college?&lt;br /&gt;Me: I did go to college, that's what I graduated from.&lt;br /&gt;Woman 1: Oh! What is your degree in?&lt;br /&gt;Me: I have my bachelors in Sociology.&lt;br /&gt;Woman 2: Are you using your degree?&lt;br /&gt;Me: Not really. I work for a department that develops websites.&lt;br /&gt;Woman 2: Oh that's interesting. So....... if I wanted to find someones phone number, could I look that up on the internet?&lt;br /&gt;Me: If they have a listed landline, yes. You could try whitepages.com. &lt;br /&gt;Woman 2: I need to find this womans phone number and I can't remember where she lives. I keep my landline to call my friends mom in Ohio, she can't hear when I call her from cell phone, so I keep my landline. I don't have the internet.......and she kept going, and going, and going. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Apparently, I don't look old enough to have graduated from college. And since I work in a department that develops websites, I must know about every website ever made. I said I WORK in a department that develops websites, I never said I did the developing. I swear, some people drive me nuts!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be posting later about McDonald's. Watch out for that one!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-80761381899413344?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/80761381899413344/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/07/how-old-do-i-look.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/80761381899413344'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/80761381899413344'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/07/how-old-do-i-look.html' title='How old do I look?'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1114131310319829318</id><published>2010-06-28T07:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-28T07:26:48.100-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Soda-pop'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Dumb mother'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sprite'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Soft Drink'/><title type='text'>What is a soft drink?</title><content type='html'>I learn many valuable lessons while working at the restaurant. Most of the time, it's things that I never want to do, or things I'll never say. Just when I think that I've heard it all, someone surprises me with their stupidity. A family of four came in, and I asked what they would like to drink. The mother told her two children that they couldn't have pop (it's what we call it in Illinois, stupid right?), but they can have Sprite! I stood baffled for a moment. Doesn't sprite fall into the category of carbonated sugar water? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned to wikipedia to help define what is a soda-pop, pop, soft drink, fizzy drink... whatever you call it. A soft drink is a drink that contains no alcohol, and is usually referred to as a sugary drink. Soft drinks are often carbonated and commonly consumed while chilled or at room temperature. Some of the most common soft drinks include cola, flavored water, sparkling water, iced tea, sweet tea, sparkling lemonade (or other lemon-lime soft drinks), squash, fruit punch, root beer, orange soda, grape soda, cream soda and ginger ale.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also read the health effects. I think I should have this printed on the side of the child's cup. "The consumption of sugar-sweetened soft drinks is associated with obesity, type 2 diabetes, dental cavities, and low nutrient levels". &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I often wonder how people can be so dumb. Did someone really tell this woman that Sprite was a healthy alternative to a coke?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1114131310319829318?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1114131310319829318/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-is-soft-drink.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1114131310319829318'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1114131310319829318'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/06/what-is-soft-drink.html' title='What is a soft drink?'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-921087066986048052</id><published>2010-06-22T07:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-22T07:38:20.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Heat Advisory</title><content type='html'>The weather lately has been crazy. It seems like we're having more storms than usual, and it's abnormally hot. It could also be that I don't normally pay attention to the weather, and lately I have been. Last night, I woke up constantly because of thunder and lightening. It was a crazy storm! The thunder was so loud and our bedroom was all lit up with lightening. A little scary, but nothing that was going to keep me awake all night. I would finally fall back asleep then a very loud BOOM CRACK BOOM BOOM CRACK BOOM would wake me again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A heat advisory has been issued for today. It's supposed to be 95 degrees with scattered thunderstorms. As I write about this heat advisory, I'm sitting in my office wearing jeans, and a fleece. It's so cold in here! It makes it difficult to work when I have popsicles for fingers. I read an article a while ago about worker productivity and office temperature. I can't remember if I'm quoting the article correctly because I can't find anymore, but it said something like "When the office temperate exceeds 78 degrees or falls below 72 degrees, worker productivity declines". It sucks that I have cute summer clothes and can't even wear them to work. I don't know the exact temperature in here, but I'd be willing to bet it's below 72 degrees!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-921087066986048052?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/921087066986048052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/06/heat-advisory.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/921087066986048052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/921087066986048052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/06/heat-advisory.html' title='Heat Advisory'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-748838156656124455</id><published>2010-06-08T12:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-11T07:26:28.607-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday to Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/TBEAFxjpt3I/AAAAAAAADZM/vLmu8NQXOMA/s1600/cake403.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 269px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/TBEAFxjpt3I/AAAAAAAADZM/vLmu8NQXOMA/s320/cake403.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5481162320688822130" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For quite awhile, I've been dreading this day. I wanted to skip my birthday all together and stay 24, until I realized, being 24 pretty much sucked. I won't bore you with the details, but after this year, I'm welcoming 25!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll highlight the great moments of being 24, if I forget anything, sorry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;July 31- We got married in San Diego&lt;br /&gt;August- Honeymoon in Cabo&lt;br /&gt;September- Cait's wedding&lt;br /&gt;October- I got a new job&lt;br /&gt;November- My Godson was born!&lt;br /&gt;March- I bought a new car&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few months before we got married, A friend of mine warned me that the first year of marriage is horrible. Luckily, our year wasn't as bad as hers. I don't know whether to blame the bad year on it being our first year of marriage, or being 24. All I know is this: Bring it on 25!!! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did some research earlier this week on interesting facts of 1985, and mostly came up empty. 1985 can be summed up as a very boring year. Other than my birth, and the birth of the Dairy Queen blizzard, not much happened. Coca-Cola changed it's formula and released New Coke. Apparently it sucked and the original formula was back on the market in less than three months. Since I don't drink coca-cola, I really don't care what they did, or will do in the future. Don't get too excited Pepsi, I don't like you either. If you aren't in the water, orange juice, wine, or miller lite family, I probably won't like you. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also a big shout out to my brother bear and sister in law. Thanks for singing me happy birthday this morning in my voicemail. David- thank you for calling me old, like I didn't already know that. But you're older, and I'm skinnier.... I WIN.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-748838156656124455?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/748838156656124455/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/06/happy-birthday-to-me.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/748838156656124455'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/748838156656124455'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/06/happy-birthday-to-me.html' title='Happy Birthday to Me'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/TBEAFxjpt3I/AAAAAAAADZM/vLmu8NQXOMA/s72-c/cake403.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-4939195513066440940</id><published>2010-06-01T12:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T12:35:59.975-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Long Weekend</title><content type='html'>I was so excited for the long weekend and ended up being disappointed. I can't get excited about anything! Every time I do, I get let down. I had so much I wanted to do, but didn't get done. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday started off great! I slept until 8:30, then cleaned my kitchen. It was sparkling! Then I headed outside for some relaxation in the sun. I wanted to get a kiddie pool and put my feet in it, but I didn't feel like going anywhere after I cleaned. I read part of a book too while I was sitting. That was my big plan for the weekend, to sit. Although I had the day off, I still had to go to my part time job. I was really looking forward to having a dairy queen cheeseburger when I got off of work, but I had to stay until 10, and they closed at 9. That was the first major disappointment. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday started off great too. Aaron and I went to the farmers market. Neither one of us had ever been before, it was ok. I thought they'd have tons of fresh produce and lots of different types of food, but there really wasn't much. I guess towards the end of the summer, there should be more. We'll go back in August. After the farmers market, we went to Farm and Fleet! I do not like that store. It smells funny. And it's full of bib overalls and farming stuff, neither of those interests me. They do have outdoor furniture though, and we bought some.... FINALLY! It has taken us 3 years to finally decide on a set. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent the afternoon baking and making a huge mess of my clean kitchen. I was trying to hurry through the baking so I could go sit outside, but I was held up when making pie because my cornstarch had bugs in it! I put water into a glass, then mixed in the cornstarch, when I noticed a bug. I though my glass was dirty, so I tried it again, and there was another bug! I was so pissed. Aaron went to the grocery store for me, but it still held up the baking. I didn't have time to clean up the mess, I left it for later. When my sister got home, she thought "Betty Crocker had thrown up in the kitchen" (I hope I got that quote right). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to a cookout that night, and I got bit by a mosquito. It was a nice cookout. Good food. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to work all afternoon on Sunday, which turned out to be incredibly boring. I can't blame people for not wanting to dine at a restaurant on such a beautiful day. I hated being inside, I felt like I wasted the entire day, probably because I did. Then I went to another cookout. Nothing to report, it was a cookout.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Monday it rained. We had lunch at my parents house, then came home. That's it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It wasn't a terrible weekend, but I had so much planned I didn't get to do. I felt rushed the entire time and not relaxed at all. Oh well, maybe I can on labor day weekend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-4939195513066440940?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/4939195513066440940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/06/long-weekend.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4939195513066440940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4939195513066440940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/06/long-weekend.html' title='Long Weekend'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-8796921981560249949</id><published>2010-05-25T12:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-25T12:39:43.077-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Ducks</title><content type='html'>Last night, Aaron and I ate dinner on our deck. I absolutely love this weather! It's warm and sunny, but there's not a bunch of bugs yet, so we can actually eat outside. We've been meaning to buy outdoor furniture for the last three years, but we haven't had much luck. Thanks to David and Pam, we've been able to enjoy theirs! They needed a place to store it until their house was ready, so we took it off their hands. It looks very nice at our house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_wkpcBlH2I/AAAAAAAADY4/n_PB1CzXwYk/s1600/pic.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/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_wkpcBlH2I/AAAAAAAADY4/n_PB1CzXwYk/s320/pic.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475291541291736930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Julie was taking a picture of the little hunter in our backyard, and happened to take a lovely picture of the table. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that I've set the stage for our dinner, let me tell you about the ducks. Four ducks flew into our neighbors yard, and sat under a tree. They were very close our yard and it was a perfect view for Aaron. I didn't really care about the ducks, but he was fascinated. Here's the gist of the conversation we had about the ducks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: What are geese doing over there?&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: They aren't geese, they are ducks.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Oh. I don't care, what are they doing?&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: It looks like they are eating.&lt;br /&gt;Me: What would they be eating?&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: I don't know... oh wait..they are fighting.&lt;br /&gt;Me: No they're not. &lt;br /&gt;Aaron: No... look... they're screwing!&lt;br /&gt;Me: What???&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: Yeah... see.. the three male ducks are jumping on the ugly one, that's the female.&lt;br /&gt;Me: Ducks don't screw. They lay eggs.&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: No, they're probably screwing. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't exactly remember the rest of the conversation, but Aaron did talk a lot about ducks mating. I wish I had my camera with me. I was too busy eating to care that much though.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-8796921981560249949?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/8796921981560249949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/ducks.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8796921981560249949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8796921981560249949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/ducks.html' title='Ducks'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_wkpcBlH2I/AAAAAAAADY4/n_PB1CzXwYk/s72-c/pic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-3067020829464768015</id><published>2010-05-21T09:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-21T09:34:46.526-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A new workout</title><content type='html'>On nice days, I like to go outside for a walk/run. But since it was rainy yesterday, Cait came over and we did a workout DVD. We thought about doing pilates, when I realized that I still haven't done any of the P90x DVD's Aaron bought months ago. From what I understand, there's an order to do the videos, and you need to do them for 60 days, maybe 90, I can't remember. But we opened the case, and picked from 11 or so DVD's. Some of the stuff sounded hard, like, back and chest workout... no thank you. Then there was one called Kenpo, which I had never heard of before, so we gave it a try.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't try to be a street fighter, or a gang banger of any sorts, so this video was a real learning tool. I was taught how to punch, jab, sword, hammer, kick, step kick, back kick, side kick.... and the list goes on and on and on. While we were standing in front of the TV doing these moves, oh so pathetically, my sister sat on the couch, laughed, and talked about cupcakes. Great motivation, thanks Julie! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I was learning how to punch and block, I realized that I would definitely lose in a fight. I may be able to push someone out of the way, so that I can run for the exit, but I'm fairly confident, that if I'm in a position that I'll need to fight, those P90x skills won't come rushing back. I can only hope that I won't ever be in that situation, and if I am, I'm wearing my comfortable heels, and my jeans aren't too tight so I can run away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-3067020829464768015?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/3067020829464768015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/new-workout.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3067020829464768015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3067020829464768015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/new-workout.html' title='A new workout'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-4965506746083251432</id><published>2010-05-18T10:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-18T11:33:41.551-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Wrigleyville'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Cubs'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Red Sox'/><title type='text'>I tried being a Cubs fan</title><content type='html'>For one day, I attempted to be a Chicago Cubs fan. On Sunday, we went to a Cubs game at Wrigley Field with our friends. Aaron loves watching live baseball, regardless of who is playing, so we bought tickets, and headed to Wrigleyville. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I borrowed a Cubs shirt so I would look authentic. After I got dressed, I asked Aaron, "how do I look?" He stared for a minute and said, "not good". My mouth dropped to the floor, but then he finished with, "you'd look a lot better if it were a Red Sox shirt". WHEW. It was just the shirt! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The day started off pretty good. We parked, and went into a bar/restaurant for lunch (it was very delicious). We made it to the field a few minutes before the game was supposed to start. That was not a good idea! We went to three different entrances before we were let in. None of knew this, but at Wrigley field, when you have bleacher seats, it doesn't mean you have a seat! The geniuses at the ticket office decided that they should sell more bleacher seats than there are seats available. I tried stealing seats, but that didn't work. I tried sweet talking my way into seats, but that didn't work either. We ended up standing on a stairwell in an effort to see the field. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After the game, we went to a bar called the Cubbie Bear. I didn't know what to expect since none of us have ever been there. I can't say it was too exciting, it was a loud bar, full of cubs fans. I asked for a water, and the waitress came back with a bottle of water personalized for the bar. It had a "Cubbie Bear" logo! I only took a couple of sips, then we decided to leave. Logically, I thought I could take my bottle of water with me, but I was stopped at the door and they told me I had to throw it out, I couldn't leave with it. I still don't know the reasoning behind this, but I'm cheap, and wasn't about to waste my expensive bottle of water, so I chugged it. The guy who told me I had to throw it out looked impressed at my ability to drink water. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've never had a bad experience at a Red Sox game. Needless to say, I won't be converting to a Cubs fan....EVER. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_LaSU1aAPI/AAAAAAAADWs/KwjZw5sYAKg/s1600/chicago-cubs-logo.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/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_LaSU1aAPI/AAAAAAAADWs/KwjZw5sYAKg/s320/chicago-cubs-logo.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472676505573785842" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-4965506746083251432?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/4965506746083251432/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-tried-being-cubs-fan.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4965506746083251432'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4965506746083251432'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/i-tried-being-cubs-fan.html' title='I tried being a Cubs fan'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_LaSU1aAPI/AAAAAAAADWs/KwjZw5sYAKg/s72-c/chicago-cubs-logo.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-5458024178534565724</id><published>2010-05-10T10:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-10T11:08:12.593-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mothers Day and Firearms</title><content type='html'>Yesterday turned out to be a pretty interesting day. My sister and I took a trip to Wisconsin over the weekend for our future sister-in-laws bridal shower. We left early Saturday morning, spent the night, and came home yesterday. We stopped in Highland Park for breakfast/lunch at Denny's. After I was finished, a guy came up to me, asked if I was finished with my plate, and he took it. But before he left, he looked at me and said "Happy Mothers Day!". I stared at him blankly, then at Julie, then back at the guy. I think the puzzled look on my face worried him, and he said 'No mothers here?'. I responded 'Uhh, No, I'm not a mother'. He apologized and said they were trained to say that to people. I don't know if he thought Julie was my daughter, but I never thought I looked old enough to have a 17 year old. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later on that night, after we had dinner, I was standing in the kitchen doing dishes, when Aaron informed Julie and I that there was a kid in our backyard with a gun. My first response was, 'He's not pointing it at us, is he?'. Aaron laughed, and said No. He was standing on the edge of our backyard, where it meets the field. He was laying flat on his stomach trying to hide behind a tiny little hill. He would then army crawl, jump up, try to shoot something, open the gun, grab ammo out of his pocket, then try to shoot again. We all stood at the back door staring at him, trying to figure out what he was trying to kill. Julie took a picture of our brave little hunter. We still don't know who this kid was, how old he is, or if he has a license to carry that rifle. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S-hKI3c0fhI/AAAAAAAADWk/tnpN67A_ImA/s1600/kid.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/_QvYL39ujIT0/S-hKI3c0fhI/AAAAAAAADWk/tnpN67A_ImA/s320/kid.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5469703263625707026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-5458024178534565724?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/5458024178534565724/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/mothers-day-and-firearms.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5458024178534565724'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5458024178534565724'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/mothers-day-and-firearms.html' title='Mothers Day and Firearms'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S-hKI3c0fhI/AAAAAAAADWk/tnpN67A_ImA/s72-c/kid.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-3868779079932515508</id><published>2010-05-04T08:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-04T08:46:11.604-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What I realized</title><content type='html'>I'll set the stage for you. I'm sitting at my desk, working of course, when my phone rings. It's a lady from HR and she wants me to fill out, in depth, the company wide form that tells someone (I'm not sure who this information is useful to) what we know, what we do, and what our interests are. I filled this out when I started, but I didn't have much to say, so I left quite a few questions blank.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Answering these questions made me realize that I'm not really good at anything. I'm not an expert in any given field, but I do have skills and knowledge of many different areas. One question was: What languages do you know? I know English. I could have said that I know English, I can get by on what Spanish I know, and I can say all the not nice words in Italian and I can count to 11. I guess I know more than that, I could probably get by with what I know when I visit Italy again, but I'm not fluent. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What are my interests? Hmmmm... I've been wondering this myself. I like to play tennis, golf, cook, and read. But am I professional at any of this? NO. Do I have any special skills? I can bake really delicious pies. I can read a book. I can hit a golf ball (not far, and mostly accurate but I won't be going to get my PGA tour card anytime soon). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I ask, is it better to be an expert in one thing and focus all my time and attention on it, or continue what I am doing now, have varied areas that I'm just "good"?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-3868779079932515508?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/3868779079932515508/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/what-i-realized.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3868779079932515508'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3868779079932515508'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/what-i-realized.html' title='What I realized'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-6878195667161016700</id><published>2010-05-03T10:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-03T10:22:44.560-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Update</title><content type='html'>Well, the official results of the cookie bake off were emailed to us Friday afternoon. I did not win. I think the competition was rigged. The person who organizes the event won grand prize! How does that happen? I tried 4 out of the 5 types of sugar cookies entered, and mine tasted the best! They weren't the best decorated, but if they were judging by taste alone, mine should have won. Oh well, I guess I really can't win them all. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday was race day! The Illinois marathon had taken over the town. Cait and I started the 5k at 7am! I checked my official race time this morning and it said 34:18. I was hoping to run it in under 30 minutes, or at least somewhere closer to a 10 minute mile, but I guess an 11:03 minute mile isn't too bad. There were so many people there, I couldn't set a pace. I was running, then lightly jogging, then walking to find an open space around people then running again. I'm so proud of Cait though! She ran the entire 3.1 miles and didn't stop at all! GO CAIT! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On May 15, I'm running another 5K. I'm hoping to have a better time, it shouldn't be nearly as crowded.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-6878195667161016700?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/6878195667161016700/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/update.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6878195667161016700'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6878195667161016700'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/05/update.html' title='Update'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1876760243695631243</id><published>2010-04-30T10:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-30T11:03:04.851-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cookie Bake Off</title><content type='html'>Every so often, my office has baking competitions. I've been at this company for 7 months now, and so far, there's been 3 competitions. The first one was for pies, the second for chili and today there's cookies. I had never entered a bake off before and the first time I did, I entered an apple pie, and a chocolate pie. I've only made a handful of pies in my life, but I had a good teacher, and the natural baking ability, so my pies turned out heavenly. My apple pie took second place, and my chocolate pie took third! Third place for  my chocolate pie was a pretty astounding feat since that was the first chocolate pie I had ever made! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't really care for chili, so I didn't enter that contest. I have a general rule that I follow when cooking: I'm only going to cook things that I like. Why would I spend all the time baking and money on the ingredients if I'm not going to enjoy the final product? I hate fish, so I've never cooked it. It's not that I hate chili, it tastes fine, but I can't stand the beans in it! It's the texture of the bean that makes me cringe. Whenever I eat chili, I have to strategically pick out all the beans. It's such a waste of my energy to do that since I'm not really going to enjoy it anyway. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, I baked sugar cookies, and stuffed peanut butter cookies. It took me 3 hours! My sugar cookies are delicious and always get compliments, but when I dropped them off to be judged earlier, I saw everyone elses entries and those who made sugar cookies looked way better than mine. They were so intricately decorated and perfectly shaped. Mine were circles (or almost circles) with white frosting. My stuffed peanut butter cookies are amazing though. No one else made those! Who knows if I have a fighting chance in this competition. I'll post the results when they are finished judging.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cookie Criteria:&lt;br /&gt;Appearance/Shape: They look average, nothing spectacular. Julie told me my circles need to be more "Circle-y".&lt;br /&gt;Texture/Color: Again, they look like a cookies. &lt;br /&gt;Taste: AMAZING! I'll definitely kick ass in this portion of judging.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S9sa-PuPdGI/AAAAAAAADWc/06f-m4w1La8/s1600/cookie.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/_QvYL39ujIT0/S9sa-PuPdGI/AAAAAAAADWc/06f-m4w1La8/s320/cookie.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465992229418923106" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is the only picture I've ever taken of the stuffed peanut butter cookies.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1876760243695631243?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1876760243695631243/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/cookie-bake-off.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1876760243695631243'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1876760243695631243'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/cookie-bake-off.html' title='Cookie Bake Off'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S9sa-PuPdGI/AAAAAAAADWc/06f-m4w1La8/s72-c/cookie.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-2238377101209451541</id><published>2010-04-29T10:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-29T12:05:46.734-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I need a hobby</title><content type='html'>One day, a few summers ago, I drove to the local Hobby Lobby store in an effort to find something to do. As I got out of my car, and took a few steps towards the door, a man stopped me and asked if I was wanting to shop. Well of course I did, why else would be there? He informed me that they were in the process of organizing the store so they could open it over the weekend. I knew they were moving to a new building, but with all the cars in the parking lot, I figured it was finished. NOPE. My attempt at getting a hobby failed miserably. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the first day of classes fall semester, when one of my professors decided he wanted to get to know the students he would be teaching. He went around the room, asked our names, what year we were, and other random questions. When it was my turn, I simply said, I'm Elizabeth, a senior, and I spend all my time at school, or work. He then asked me if I had any hobbies. My response: No, I went to hobby lobby over the summer to get one, but they were closed. I didn't think it was very funny, it was the truth, but he laughed.... a lot! Maybe he thought I was joking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been trying to run at least a few days a week, but I don't want to consider it a hobby, because it's something I'm supposed to do anyway. I want something fun, something creative, something relaxing to do on a random Thursday night. Of course, I asked google for help in coming up with ideas. I found a page that claims it's the World's largest list of hobbies. Here's some of what they suggest:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aircraft spotting- WHAT? Are they saying I should sit outside and look for planes? Umm.. No. &lt;br /&gt;Beach/Sun tanning- First of all, I don't live near a beach. And second, I'm trying to prevent skin cancer. This is not conducive to my efforts.&lt;br /&gt;Beachcombing- Again, there is no beach around here.&lt;br /&gt;Blacksmithing- WTF? &lt;br /&gt;Blogging- Already doing it!&lt;br /&gt;Boating- I don't have a boat, or a place to put my boat if I did get one. Not to mention there really isn't any sizable body of water around here to put my boat in.&lt;br /&gt;Body Building- I'm perfectly happy with tiny muscles, thankyouverymuch.&lt;br /&gt;Casino gambling- This shouldn't even be considered a hobby.&lt;br /&gt;Dumpster Diving- I don't take the trash out at my own house. Why would I 'dive' into another persons pile of crap? &lt;br /&gt;Listening to music- Like music on my ipod? Or in my car? Done and Done.&lt;br /&gt;Mountain climbing- Well, since I live in the flattest part of the world, there isn't even a tiny mole hill I could try to climb. &lt;br /&gt;People watching- Could this be closely related to the facebook stalking I already do? I would say so. &lt;br /&gt;Shark Fishing- I hate fishing, it's so boring, so that's a definite No. Add sharks to the equation and that's a HELL NO.&lt;br /&gt;Shopping- I'd rather make this a career, not a hobby. I'll continue to dream later.&lt;br /&gt;Texting- I'm not a 14 year old girl. No thank you.&lt;br /&gt;Traveling- Again, another dream job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although these were excellent ideas (or not), I'll keep looking.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-2238377101209451541?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/2238377101209451541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-need-hobby.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2238377101209451541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2238377101209451541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-need-hobby.html' title='I need a hobby'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-5986218667387865897</id><published>2010-04-23T09:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-23T09:26:16.792-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pet Interactions</title><content type='html'>I've always found it interesting how some people care for their pets. My moms dog, Missy, has her own coat to wear in the winter. She knows when it's time to go outside, because my mom says "Missy, it's time to put on your coat". And the dog runs over, gets all excited, and goes outside. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I heard something quite humorous. A guy was on the phone talking to his cats. Yes, that's right. Apparently, his cats had done something wrong, and his girlfriend called him, held the cats up to the phone, and he lectured them. From what I understand, this happens all the time. They are cats! What could they have done that's so bad? I'm sure the cat is thinking "UH oh, I better not pee on the carpet anymore". Probably not. I don't know cat language, but I'm pretty sure it doesn't understand you. This one tops my list of weird pet interactions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S9HJ5jOwYoI/AAAAAAAADWU/_SUPjLQtC-E/s1600/cat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 212px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S9HJ5jOwYoI/AAAAAAAADWU/_SUPjLQtC-E/s320/cat.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5463369813523980930" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-5986218667387865897?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/5986218667387865897/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/pet-interactions.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5986218667387865897'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5986218667387865897'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/pet-interactions.html' title='Pet Interactions'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S9HJ5jOwYoI/AAAAAAAADWU/_SUPjLQtC-E/s72-c/cat.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1973781936713979372</id><published>2010-04-22T12:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-22T12:45:22.512-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='texting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='phones'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='running'/><title type='text'>What not to do on a treadmill</title><content type='html'>Last night, I decided to run on my treadmill. I always start with a light warm-up walk. I was also texting my mom at the same time. After I had gone a half mile, it was time to start running. I didn't want to be rude and abruptly end the conversation, so as I ran, I tried typing "Gotta go....running". I was about to type the 'ing' when I dropped my phone, stepped on, and it flew off the treadmill. The back came off, but the battery stayed in place. I paused the treadmill, got off, and put my phone back together. It seemed to work fine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I use my phone as an alarm clock and have the sound on high, but when I want to be lazy and hit the snooze a bunch of times, I switch it over to vibrate mode and put it by my pillow. It shakes my head but that's a lot less annoying than hearing "DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DO DO" until I feel like getting up. It turns out, dropping my phone and stepping on it broke the vibrate mechanism and I woke up late. Not too bad, only about 20 minutes later than usual. I jumped out of bed, showered, and got ready for work in record time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned.....no texting while running.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1973781936713979372?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1973781936713979372/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/what-not-to-do-on-treadmill.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1973781936713979372'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1973781936713979372'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/what-not-to-do-on-treadmill.html' title='What not to do on a treadmill'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-8949709661154580650</id><published>2010-04-21T12:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-21T12:45:43.636-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What I learned yesterday</title><content type='html'>Is it true that you learn something new everyday? I usually don't notice what I learn because it's not that interesting. Yesterday was different. Have you seen those guys who wear their pants below their butts and have to walk funny to try to keep them from falling off entirely? The other day, I was stopped at a stoplight, and a man was crossing the street. He had a belt on, but his pants were already falling off and he had to hold them up with one hand. Now I ask, what is the point? Why not buy your pants to fit correctly and you wouldn't have to worry about holding them up. And the belt! Why wear a belt if it's not doing it's job in the first place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shared this story with a guy I work with. He told me that wearing your pants to the point of falling off your ass originated in prison. A man would wear his pants low to indicate to the other prisoners that he was gay and he was welcoming 'company'. Those who were straight, wore their pants normally. He heard it from a cop then shared that little tidbit with me. I'm not quite sure how to research that information, but once I get some facts, I'll be sure to cite my sources. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you google for providing me with such a lovely image!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S89VSn0ujaI/AAAAAAAADWM/kSHVf5asem4/s1600/pics.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 250px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S89VSn0ujaI/AAAAAAAADWM/kSHVf5asem4/s320/pics.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5462678651439844770" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-8949709661154580650?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/8949709661154580650/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/what-i-learned-yesterday.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8949709661154580650'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8949709661154580650'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/what-i-learned-yesterday.html' title='What I learned yesterday'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S89VSn0ujaI/AAAAAAAADWM/kSHVf5asem4/s72-c/pics.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-7417214593963720722</id><published>2010-04-13T12:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T12:33:34.446-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I feel the pain!</title><content type='html'>All I feel today is pain. Pain in my back, butt, hips, arms, but mostly back. On Saturday, Aaron and I went golfing. On Sunday, we played catch in our backyard. Yesterday, I ran. Today, I hurt like hell. All I want to do is sit on the floor of my office and stretch. It's mostly an annoying pain, I'm stiff, but I'll live. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a really nice time golfing. I got better towards the end, but I still need loads of practice. There were some guys who were playing in front of us, and we kept having to wait. That's what is wrong with this sport. It takes so long! I was running after my ball and sprinting across the green just so the people behind us wouldn't have to wait for me. That lasted 3 holes until we met up with Slow and Slower. I entertained myself by walking on the edge of the water and using my club as a fishing pole to get out all the golf balls. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been too nice to stay indoors. This is why I love summer, I can be outside all day long and never get bored. There's so much to do! This weekend, I think we'll golf some more. Or maybe play tennis!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-7417214593963720722?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/7417214593963720722/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-feel-pain.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7417214593963720722'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7417214593963720722'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/i-feel-pain.html' title='I feel the pain!'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-8405855586634491146</id><published>2010-04-08T07:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-08T08:08:04.934-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Tiger Woods'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Sponsors'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Nike'/><title type='text'>When will I stop talking about Tiger Woods?</title><content type='html'>I've written two blogs about Tiger's cheating, but I've officially moved on. I want to state for the record, I WAS RIGHT! Right about what you may ask. Whenever Tiger's scandal broke, all of his sponsors were dropping him and I thought that was a terrible idea. A company with a good marketing strategy could easily use Tiger's adulterous ways to their advantage, and that's precisely what Nike did. Have you seen his latest commercial? You're in luck, I'll post it! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://video.yahoo.com/watch/7293521/19033053"&gt;&lt;img width="158" height="111" src="http://l.yimg.com/a/p/i/bcst/videosearch/14170/105405234.jpeg" alt="Earl and Tiger @ Yahoo! Video" title="Earl and Tiger @ Yahoo! Video" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nike, you did a good thing. This commercial is getting loads of media attention. I bet all those sponsors who dropped him are kicking themselves in the ass right about now. To be honest, I can't even remember who dropped Tiger, but I do remember who kept him. Good work Nike!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-8405855586634491146?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/8405855586634491146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/when-will-i-stop-talking-about-tiger.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8405855586634491146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8405855586634491146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/when-will-i-stop-talking-about-tiger.html' title='When will I stop talking about Tiger Woods?'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-2736121187791532088</id><published>2010-04-02T11:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-02T11:17:29.059-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Elevator, Birthdays and Walmart</title><content type='html'>Everyday, I was trying to walk up the stairs to my office, but yesterday, I ruined it! A few guys on my team wanted to go for a walk since it was such a nice day, and I went along. They took the elevator (sigh). I'm going to forgive myself for that one since I did go for a walk, and I had taken the stairs three times already. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Wednesday, I had to take a trip Walmart to pick up the basic essentials. While I waited for pedestrians to cross the path out of the store, a run away cart decided to set its sights on my new car. EECK! I made a quick move and dodged some customers just in the nick of time. I never have good experiences at Walmart. Right now, they are remodeling the store and I couldn't find the umbrellas, or someone to ask where they were. I can't remember if I've blogged about this before, but I guess I look like a Walmart employee. I'll search through old posts and tell you that story. We are supposed to get quite a bit of rain next week and I was trying to prepare. Good thing they didn't move the deodorant because I would have hated to go without that too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After my Walmart escapade it was time to head to my parents house for my sisters 17th birthday bash. I feel so old! To me, she'll always be my baby doll. 17? REALLY? I still feel like I need to hold her hand when we cross the street and cut up her food for her. Next big event for my Julie-Beans: Prom.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-2736121187791532088?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/2736121187791532088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/elevator-birthdays-and-walmart.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2736121187791532088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2736121187791532088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/elevator-birthdays-and-walmart.html' title='Elevator, Birthdays and Walmart'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1429830653879738501</id><published>2010-04-01T06:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-01T07:16:23.540-07:00</updated><title type='text'>April Fools Day</title><content type='html'>I love holidays more than the average person. On Christmas, I'll leave my tree up and have our house decorated well into January because I don't feel as though a month is enough time to enjoy this glorious holiday. On Thanksgiving, I'll prepare enough food to feed a small village. I'll dress up for Halloween and pass out candy to the little kids. Last year, I dressed up and went trick-or-treating (not by myself, I was babysitting). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was actually taken the day before Halloween at a party. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S7Soofd8icI/AAAAAAAADUs/8NxxinuPOKs/s1600/Us+on+halloween.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S7Soofd8icI/AAAAAAAADUs/8NxxinuPOKs/s320/Us+on+halloween.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455170462247848386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On Thanksgiving, we stayed at home and I made a feast for two people. We ate leftovers for a really long time. My kitchen was a wreck!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S7SpfsbAD-I/AAAAAAAADVM/iVY7nJVTbI4/s1600/CIMG0881.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/_QvYL39ujIT0/S7SpfsbAD-I/AAAAAAAADVM/iVY7nJVTbI4/s320/CIMG0881.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455171410617962466" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S7SpfMJ0l9I/AAAAAAAADVE/OT7uqerjayQ/s1600/CIMG0880.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/_QvYL39ujIT0/S7SpfMJ0l9I/AAAAAAAADVE/OT7uqerjayQ/s320/CIMG0880.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5455171401955973074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point I'm trying to make is, I love holidays, I really do, but I don't love them when I don't know about them. You see, today I got to work, and looked at our internal site. There was a warning message to all employees. I'm going to copy it for your enjoyment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Notice:&lt;br /&gt;April Fool's Day is taken as an excuse for pranks and jokes that are intended to be in good humor. While most of us enjoy a good laugh, these pranks can have unintended consequences and in a work setting some can be costly. Enjoy the day, but please refrain from pranks and from sending/forwarding silly reports within the company.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I completely forgot that today was April fools day, just like I forgot Saint Patrick's Day. I didn't wear green, and today, I won't be pranking anyone. I would probably celebrate these holidays with gusto if we got the day off of work!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1429830653879738501?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1429830653879738501/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/april-fools-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1429830653879738501'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1429830653879738501'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/04/april-fools-day.html' title='April Fools Day'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S7Soofd8icI/AAAAAAAADUs/8NxxinuPOKs/s72-c/Us+on+halloween.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-3833953056446264125</id><published>2010-03-30T12:10:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-30T12:24:52.944-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A bit more random than usual</title><content type='html'>As I was driving home from work yesterday, I realized that I have kept my new car clean for an entire week. I made a new years resolution to keep my car clean, but I never got around to cleaning it first, so I gave up. I guess I needed to buy a new car to be able to keep that resolution. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, after I went to the gym, I decided to watch Revolutionary Road. I'll talk about that movie later, but as I laid there, I realized that I didn't do a workout DVD. CRAP! I had forgotten all about it. Oh well, I'll start that next week. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right before I began writing this blog, I went to pick up a piece of paper off my desk when I got the worlds worst paper cut! My finger keeps bleeding and I'm trying not to get it on my keyboard. It's ok, it's not a community computer so no one should be too grossed out. Besides, I can't begin to tell you how many times I sneezed on it. But I do clean it regularly!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, to the movie I watched last night. It was a new release on Netflix.com so I decided to give it a try. I don't know what to say about it. I can't even form an opinion! Was it good? I'm not sure. Was it bad? I wouldn't say that. It was a little bit weird. It was all about a couples marriage and their plans to pick up and move to Paris. They had been fighting a lot, but began to bond over the idea of moving to a new city. Then things changed and they fought some more. It made me thankful that I have a wonderful husband who doesn't yell and is very kind and understanding. If I got anything out of the movie, it was to appreciate my life. Needless to say, I love my life now  more than ever!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-3833953056446264125?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/3833953056446264125/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/bit-more-random-than-usual.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3833953056446264125'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3833953056446264125'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/bit-more-random-than-usual.html' title='A bit more random than usual'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-215809768843490012</id><published>2010-03-26T10:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-26T10:35:48.762-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Car'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='2010 Honda Accord'/><title type='text'>Our new car!</title><content type='html'>On Monday, Aaron and I made our first big purchase as a married couple. We bought a brand new Honda Accord! I finally feel safe and secure when I'm driving. There's no funny sounds coming from the engine, the turn signal works, it doesn't have fumes coming from the engine and most of all, it's quiet! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever seen those car commercials where the drivers life is complete chaos until they get in their car, and everything seems peaceful? I didn't know such calm existed until we bought this car. After a long day at work, I walk to the parking lot to find my shiny new car glistening in the sun (or rain as was the case yesterday). As I sit down, a calm rushes over me, and I smile. It's like all the days stresses melt away. In the morning when I open the door to see my car sitting in the garage, I no longer feel rushed. It's a magical power this car possesses. I never thought those commercials ever had any merit, until now. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sure this feeling won't last forever, but right now, I'm taking it all in, and enjoying the new car smell!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-215809768843490012?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/215809768843490012/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/our-new-car.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/215809768843490012'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/215809768843490012'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/our-new-car.html' title='Our new car!'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-4702377562136913358</id><published>2010-03-24T07:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-24T07:35:34.309-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My new plan for posts</title><content type='html'>I always come up with new plans on what I will write about in my blog, but last week, I came up with one that I think I will stick to. It will benefit me, and maybe a few other people who are interested in......wait for it....wait for it.....WORKOUT DVD's!!! Winters around here are pretty harsh. I refuse to go outside if the temperature is below 40 degrees, and the daytime hours are so short, it makes going outside for a workout impossible. Effective April 1st, Cait and I are giving up our gym memberships in favor of some good old-fashioned outdoor activities. April and May can be beautiful months around here, but you never know what the weather will be like from one day to the next. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My new plan is weather proof. I'm going to do a different workout DVD each week, and tell everyone what I think of it. Regardless of the weather, I'm going to do one workout DVD four times in one week, then rate the experience. I'll still go outside and walk/run our favorite trails, but this will take it a step further. I can't do it for myself, I'd end up sitting on the couch in the end, watching desperate housewives. I need everyone out there to know what I'm doing, so I actually do it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to come up with a rating scale. I haven't worked out all the kinks in this plan yet, but I better get moving, Monday is the start date!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-4702377562136913358?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/4702377562136913358/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-new-plan-for-posts.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4702377562136913358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4702377562136913358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/my-new-plan-for-posts.html' title='My new plan for posts'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-653321817425894305</id><published>2010-03-22T08:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-22T09:13:13.382-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The universe has done it again</title><content type='html'>I remember writing a blog and mentioning my financial emergencies. I can't remember my exact quote, but it went something like "I'm hoping to avoid a 2010 emergency". That did not happen! My money pit of a car has let me down, AGAIN. On Saturday, I was driving to my sisters volleyball game, when my car started to act up. I can't explain it exactly, but this is not normal. I parked it for the night, but on Sunday, the problem had gotten worse. It was shaking so bad, and barely wanted to accelerate. I could either spend more money to fix it, or count my losses and get a new. I chose to car shop. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the universe knows when I have a certain amount of money because once I reach that point, it stabs me and takes me for everything I have. I'm hoping the universe is trying to tell me to get a new car and I won't have this problem anymore. Once the money pit is gone, maybe I can rebuild and get over this plateau.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-653321817425894305?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/653321817425894305/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/universe-has-done-it-again.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/653321817425894305'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/653321817425894305'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/universe-has-done-it-again.html' title='The universe has done it again'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-6932102106790075224</id><published>2010-03-18T10:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-18T11:45:49.743-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Everything under the sun</title><content type='html'>Cait wanted a blog post, so a blog post Cait gets. I don't have much to say, but I'll do best. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've been taking the stairs everyday! When I arrive in the morning, I have so much to carry up the stairs, that it makes the journey a bit difficult, but I do it. I'm still dying when I get to the top. Today I thought I was going to need a break when I got to the fourth floor landing, but someone was behind me, so I had to forge ahead. I better start seeing results in butt soon or I'm finished with this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've decided that party planning is my passion. I need to find a way to turn what I love to do into a real money maker. I want to be just like Bree Van De Kamp from desperate housewives. Well, minus all the crazy stuff. I love how she has a catering company and is a domestic goddess. That's what I'm shooting for. But how on earth am I supposed to make it all possible?  I'm still working out my business plan. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now, Cait, my mom and I are planned my future sister-in-laws bridal shower. I love this process. We get to pick out the cutest invitations and decorations. It's just so much fun! Oh Pamela, you're going to love it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-6932102106790075224?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/6932102106790075224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/everything-under-sun.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6932102106790075224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6932102106790075224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/everything-under-sun.html' title='Everything under the sun'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-8122348414962969731</id><published>2010-03-15T11:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-15T13:10:47.629-07:00</updated><title type='text'>March Madness</title><content type='html'>I believe this to be the most exciting part of the basketball season. The NCAA tournament brackets are here! It's so much more fun to watch when I have a team to root for, and have money riding on the game. It's only $5 to enter a bracket, but the potential to win is still there. I should know, I've won before. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's my story to bracket richness. Every year, my moms company has it's own tournament and you enter brackets for $2 each (I haven't done this particular pool in awhile so the price may have changed, but I think that's what it was). My mom brought the brackets to the family and we all filled them out and she entered them in the pool. In 2003, I filled out my very first bracket. I didn't fill this out in a strategic way where I looked over each teams record, and analyzed how well they would do against each component. I simply picked the teams that I thought sounded the best. Or I picked the team from the state I liked the most. I picked Syracuse as the winner because I had just seen the movie Big Daddy and they talked a lot about Syracuse. I guess it was fresh in my mind when I picking teams, and it worked! Everyone thought I was nuts. My brother told me I didn't have a chance of winning, but I proved him wrong, and everyone else. I won $200! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just filled out my bracket for the 2010 tournament. I hope I guessed my way to the top.... again!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the bracket, I'll try to figure out how to update my own progress on this. Who knows if I can even do that.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://espn.go.com/mens-college-basketball/tournament/bracket"&gt;http://espn.go.com/mens-college-basketball/tournament/bracket&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-8122348414962969731?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/8122348414962969731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/march-madness.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8122348414962969731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8122348414962969731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/march-madness.html' title='March Madness'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1501576317702065144</id><published>2010-03-10T11:08:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-10T11:18:57.158-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Stairs</title><content type='html'>Every morning on my way to work, I vow that from this point forward, I am going to take the stairs instead of the elevator up to my office. And everyday I walk into the building, see the elevator, and ride to the fifth floor. I don't take the elevator because I'm lazy, I take it because I never knew where the stairs were. It's a long hallway with unmarked doors on either side and I never knew which one to open. Instead of guessing, I decided to play it safe and take the elevator. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's such a beautiful day and I couldn't stand being inside any longer, so I decided to run and errand on my lunch break. I drove with the window down and fresh air blowing in my face. When I got back to work, I decided that today was the day that I would find the stairs, and that's exactly what I did!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I walked up to the fifth floor, and by the time I got back to my office, my buns were burning and I was out of breath! Now that the weather is getting nicer, I need to hurry up and get in shape. From this point forward.... I'm taking the stairs!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1501576317702065144?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1501576317702065144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/stairs.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1501576317702065144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1501576317702065144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/stairs.html' title='Stairs'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-6020151915454410111</id><published>2010-03-03T13:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-03T13:44:16.931-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Rudeness</title><content type='html'>Waiting tables a few days a week has taught me many life lessons. I've learned how to hold my tongue, which I've never been good at, and how to slap a smile on my face when dealing with the rudest customers. Last night was a perfect example of this. A mother, and her four children came in for dinner. She was rude from the get go. I knew it was going to be difficult, but I smiled anyway, and was polite as usual. Business was slow last night, so when this family came in, they were the only table. That by no means gives her the right to hell "EXCUSE ME!!!" when I'm standing 8 feet away. She needed another parmesan cheese shaker because she couldn't share the one I had already given to her with her daughter, who, by the way, already had a mountain of cheese on her plate. I was doing other things, but kept glancing at the table to make sure they were ok, but she kept giving me the death stare. At one point, she raised both her arms in the air, started frantically waving at me with a disgruntled look on her face. I walked over to her table and she said "I need another glass of wine!". But she said it as bitchy as she could. By this time, I was over her, and ready to kick her out, but it's not my restaurant so I let it go. I wish there was a 'bitch' tax I could charge, too bad it doesn't exist. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do believe in karma, and I think this lady has something coming for her. I wouldn't ever do anything to anyones food, I'm not that kind of person. But if she were to go elsewhere and treat a server that way, I could almost guarantee that they would tamper with her food. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What happens if the person she is rude to turns out to be a pre-med college student and eventually treats her in the ER someday. Wouldn't that suck to be her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point of my rant is this: Be nice. Manners are free so everyone can use them!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-6020151915454410111?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/6020151915454410111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/rudeness.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6020151915454410111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6020151915454410111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/rudeness.html' title='Rudeness'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-8663330373037362393</id><published>2010-03-02T11:07:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-02T11:32:18.281-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Catch up time!</title><content type='html'>I haven't posted a blog in a while, so I guess I'll have to get everyone up to speed on what's been going on in my little world.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to an Illinois hockey game Friday night. It was so much fun! Now I guess our children will be hockey players, if they choose to be, of course. Aaron loves sports, and so do I, but Aaron has dreams, hopes, and aspirations for our children who haven't even been created (nice way to put that, right?). One morning, he was watching a documentary on surfing and told me that if we got rich, we'd have to move to the coast so our children can surf. Later that day, he was watching snow boarding on the winter X games and decided we also needed to move to Colorado so our children can be snow bunnies. He's now moved on to hockey, which is more realistic seeing as how we have ice arenas nearby. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, I had a doctors appointment, and we parked in the parking garage, but neither of us brought any cash. As we were sitting in the toll booth line, I searched my purse for some change. I found 25 cents in pennies, a dime, and I was searching for a nickle that I had recently dropped to the bottom of my purse. I don't think the toll booth lady wanted to count all my change so she said not to worry about it and let us go. YAY! Free parking! Aaron decided we should do that next time we go to Chicago, but something tells me it probably wouldn't work there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night was week four of 5K training. We've eased into it, so it hasn't been so bad, until last night. We always start with a 5 minute walk to warm up, then we begin the running interval. 3 minutes running, 90 seconds walking, 5 minutes running, 3 minutes walking, 5 minutes running, 90 seconds walking..... or something like that. Picture this: We've been on the treadmill 25 minutes, and it's our last 5 minute stretch of running. We're tired, and out of breath. I keep staring at the clock wishing the numbers would move faster. Every so often, I would give Cait a warning of how much time we had left. At this point, I said, 2 and half minutes left, we're half way there! After a few more strides, my treadmill came to a dead stop! I kept running and nearly ran over the top of the stupid thing! There was some error message on the screen I couldn't get to go away so I had to jump on another treadmill to finish out my session. I was so pissed! I still don't know how far I ran or how many calories I burned. I gauged what I did off of Caits machine, but since I got there a couple minutes before her, it was completely accurate. I can't wait for summer! I'd rather take my chances of running on a bumpy road than on that stupid treadmill.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-8663330373037362393?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/8663330373037362393/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/catch-up-time.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8663330373037362393'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8663330373037362393'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/03/catch-up-time.html' title='Catch up time!'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-2905577828379500220</id><published>2010-02-24T10:54:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-24T11:15:00.353-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ask and you shall receive!</title><content type='html'>I asked what you would like to read about, and Julie commented... MEEE! Alright, so here it goes, to my little sister Julie-Beans. Beans is a nickname I gave her long ago. I don't know how it started, but I used to call her Julie-Beans, Ju-Ju-Beans, then just Beans. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is me holding my new baby doll. That's right, I would pretend she was a doll.&lt;br /&gt;They grow up so fast don't they? One minute I'm stealing bananas off of her high chair, the next she's getting recruited by volleyball scouts. Now I ask, where did the time go? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S4V3SwIzo3I/AAAAAAAADRc/wqCGDkGYf4c/s1600-h/img001-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S4V3SwIzo3I/AAAAAAAADRc/wqCGDkGYf4c/s320/img001-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441886888790303602" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This picture was taken at Megan and Alex's wedding. As you can tell, I'm now shorter than her. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S4V4JrZrLXI/AAAAAAAADRk/sLaTbfrfHwQ/s1600-h/Beth,+Julie+3.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/_QvYL39ujIT0/S4V4JrZrLXI/AAAAAAAADRk/sLaTbfrfHwQ/s320/Beth,+Julie+3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441887832411680114" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was taken in San Diego at my wedding. I can't even begin to tell you how much she cried that day! I should have posted the picture of her doing the ugly cry, because I have so many of those!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S4V47X6JAaI/AAAAAAAADRs/Qp_XUYb7vSU/s1600-h/img009-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 234px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S4V47X6JAaI/AAAAAAAADRs/Qp_XUYb7vSU/s320/img009-1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441888686172602786" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-2905577828379500220?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/2905577828379500220/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/ask-and-you-shall-receive.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2905577828379500220'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2905577828379500220'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/ask-and-you-shall-receive.html' title='Ask and you shall receive!'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S4V3SwIzo3I/AAAAAAAADRc/wqCGDkGYf4c/s72-c/img001-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1630179726877822578</id><published>2010-02-23T13:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-24T13:30:33.821-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Why do I blog?</title><content type='html'>I have no idea the answer to my own question. Why do I blog? I guess it started because I wanted to learn how to do it. It's quite simple actually. Now that I know how, it's kind of fun to write about all the crazy or amusing things I deal with daily. I could probably write a lot more than I do, but I never knew anyone was interested in what I had to say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I have a follower that I don't even know! Hey Yorkmiester! How are things in Ireland? It's a lovely country. I was there in the summer of 2008. It was a fantastic trip! Thanks for following!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I need some more blog ideas though. I keep trying to make mental notes of things that happen, but I usually forget before I can get them here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SO.... What would you like to read about?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1630179726877822578?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1630179726877822578/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/why-do-i-blog.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1630179726877822578'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1630179726877822578'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/why-do-i-blog.html' title='Why do I blog?'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-6364854305191925159</id><published>2010-02-23T07:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-23T08:18:38.930-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Money</title><content type='html'>Let me start off by saying that I am by no means a money expert or financial guru of sorts. Everything I know about money either comes from personal experience or from reading any and every financial article that came my way. If the headline read "How to get out of debt fast!" I read it. Get rich quick schemes, I read those too. All this money chatter started last night when Cait and I were at the gym. She said that I should write a book on money, like Suze Orman, but I don't have nearly enough experience, or education to do such a thing. But I did take it as a great compliment. Cait also suggested that I should share what I know with the rest of the blogger community. I want to note, what I say here works for me. It may  not work for everyone, but since I've read a lot of articles, the tips and advice that I have are a collection of what the experts say. So here it goes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Save, save, and once you've saved, save some more! Here's what works best for me. I pay my savings account like it's a bill. I get paid bi-weekly, and the very first thing I do when my paycheck is direct deposited into my account, I transfer a portion over to my savings account. I budget my money, and made sure that when I created this budget, that I included savings at the very top. There have been times that my budget has been so tight that I haven't had any wiggle room whatsoever. It was at those times that I saved $5.00 a paycheck, or $10.00 a paycheck. At least I putting something aside. It wasn't much, but over time, I was able to increase the amount I saved. Lets say that you save $5.00 a paycheck, and you also get paid bi-weekly. In one year, you will have $130 in your savings account. I know it isn't much, but it's more than you had before. I always pay myself first, that way I know that it will happen. I am continually paying down my debt at the same time, but I've learned from past experience to have emergency money. In October of 2008, I wrecked my car and needed to pay the $500 deductible, and replace the tires. I needed a grand total of $1000, but luckily, I had it. It seems as though, in my life, at least once a year, there's a catasrophe and it requires a nice chunk of our money to replace. The same thing happened in 2009, and I'm currently saving for the 2010 emergency. I'm hoping to skip this year, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There are so many types of savings accounts out there, it's hard to choose the one that's right for you. First of all, get one that is free! If the account has a $1000 minimum balance requirement to avoid a fee and you can't maintain that balance, then don't get that account. I prefer to use online savings accounts. They tend to have higher interest rates, and I can't transfer the money quickly so I'm not tempted to buy things I can't afford. It usually takes a couple of days for the money to transfer to my checking account. I can use it if I want, but not instantly. I use etrade.com. It's simple, free, and offers a higher interest rate than any of the other regular savings accounts I've had at the local banks. Many people don't trust online accounts, and I completely understand, but I've had good experiences with them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that you know how I save, here's how I pay off my debt. First off, I needed to know how much debt I really had. I like to use mint.com to help me keep track of this. This is a free website that you join, by creating a username and password. It's very simple! Then, you start adding accounts. All my loans, credit cards, checking and savings accounts are all added to my 'profile'. I'm not sure how the entire site works, but you give them your log in information to your credit cards, loans, etc. then they look up the information and keep track of everything for you. They send me emails about when different items are due and sends me a weekly financial summary of how much money I have, or don't have as the case may be. If you don't using online tools, a piece of paper and a pen work just as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pay off your debt. Easier said than done, right? I think I've heard every piece of advice out there on this topic. Some say to pay off your credit cards with the highest interest rates first, others say to pay off the smallest balance first, but it's whatever works the best for you. But while you pay off your debt, remember to save, at least a little. I've always been a fan of the 'pay off the smallest balance first' rule. This way, there's one less bill, and one less thing to think about/plan for each month. Then once that one is finished, move on to the next one. Lets say you were putting $100 a month towards the bill you just finished paying off. Take that $100, and add it to the amount you were previously spending on the the next smallest balance. Debt isn't erased over night, it takes time. I've learned that I have to be patient, and create a plan, that's all I can do. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could give you a thousand tips on how to be more frugal, but really, not many people have time for that sort of thing. I've tried to clip coupons, but the things I eat or need, there aren't any coupons for. I could tell you to cut back all day long, but no one ever wants to give up their favorite vice. I completely understand. I pay $46 a month to go to a gym, when I have most of the same equipment at my house. Not too smart, but it's the only way I'll work out, so I'ts worth the $46. I cut back in different ways. When I want to go shopping, I checkout www.wow-coupons.com to see if they have any coupons for where I want to go. I try really hard not to eat out for lunch during the week and reserve dinners out as a special occasion type event. It makes being with my hubby so much more special!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gifts. This is a tricky topic for everyone. Christmas seems to sneak up every year, but it shouldn't, the date never changes. Also, birthdays, anniversaries and holidays never move. My husband thinks I'm crazy for this, but around October, I start planning what we are going to give people for Christmas. Then I plan out how much we will spend and start saving for it. For other types of gifts, I usually plan for those months in advance too. I like to give good gifts, so it's the combination of trying to find the perfect gift, and being able to afford it that drives me to plan so far in advance.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could keep going, but if you have something that you want to know, just ask. I'll be happy to answer it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-6364854305191925159?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/6364854305191925159/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/money.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6364854305191925159'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6364854305191925159'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/money.html' title='Money'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-5193706840191263633</id><published>2010-02-22T11:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-22T11:41:16.852-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Longer Weekends</title><content type='html'>For as long as I can remember, I've always thought that the weekends were not nearly long enough. I barely accomplished anything this weekend, but if I had just one more day, I could have gotten so much more done. I wanted to clean my kitchen from top to bottom. I spent two hours cleaning the refrigerator on Saturday morning. By the time I was finished, I needed to get ready to go to Buffalo Wild Wings for the Illinois game. I ran out of time and steam to do anything else. I guess I could have finished Saturday night, or Sunday night, but we had other things to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After we watched the basketball game, we went to the game exchange place to see if they had any cheap Wii games or a controller. They didn't have anything we were interested in, but they did have the Mario Brothers game set up so anyone could try it. I always loved Mario Brothers 3 on the original Nintendo, but this one was way too different for me. I thought it was going to be the same as the old one, but no, I didn't like it very much. It was at this point that Aaron told me we could buy the original game and download it on the Wii. Why didn't we do this sooner? It was $5 and worth every penny!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We went to Best Buy to get another controller. As we pulled into the parking lot, I noticed the "Maternity" parking spot was open, so I went for it! That's right, I parked in the spot reserved for expecting mothers. I am not pregnant, but I think this spot is dumb, so I parked there. Once I stopped the car, this is how the conversation went:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: Are you serious? You're really parking here.&lt;br /&gt;Beth: Yep, how are they going to know.&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: Ok. Just stick out your belly.&lt;br /&gt;Beth: What are they going to do, try to make me prove that I'm pregnant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, I thought I should start to waddle when I walked, but I really don't look pregnant, so most people would think I was just walking funny. But I did stick out my belly. I had a coat on, so you couldn't tell either way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I said that this parking spot is dumb, I meant it! First of all, you're supposed to get exercise when you're pregnant. If you're too pregnant to walk into a store, then maybe you shouldn't be going there. I've never read research on this, but I'm fairly certain that the statistics would show that pregnant people don't get enough exercise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Once we got home, we played Mario Brothers! Then we played some more on Sunday. I'm sure we'll get sick of this game soon, but in the meantime, we're having a good laughing at how bad we are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't just play Wii all weekend, I read too. I finished &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Last Song&lt;/span&gt; and have moved on to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;The Wedding&lt;/span&gt;. I'll probably finish this tomorrow, so my new years resolution to read a book a month will actually be kept. Oh yeah, and I'm on my 8th day of not falling asleep on the couch! WOOT WOOT! I've had to start of quite a few times on that resolution, but I'm doing so much better.&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-5193706840191263633?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/5193706840191263633/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/longer-weekends.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5193706840191263633'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5193706840191263633'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/longer-weekends.html' title='Longer Weekends'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-4611387334543724058</id><published>2010-02-19T08:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-19T08:58:21.727-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tiger Woods... Again</title><content type='html'>Tiger Woods gave a statement today about what has been going on over the last couple months. I watched it via eonline, and afterwards, there was discussion amongst ENews anchors. They mentioned an online poll that they were taking on their website, so I took it. The question is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's your opinion of Tiger now that he's finally spoken?&lt;br /&gt;a) Better&lt;br /&gt;b) Worse&lt;br /&gt;c) The same&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First of all, let me just say, WHO REALLY CARES ABOUT MY OPINION? But I answered the question anyway. My opinion of Tiger Woods is the same now as it's always been. I don't know him personally so what he does in his marriage doesn't pertain to me one bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I applaud him for owning up to his mistakes and publicly apologizing to those he cares about. I think his sponsors are dumb for dropping him like they did because one day, this will all be past him, and this media attention will only make him more popular. With some good marketing, I'm sure that further down the line, the products he endorses will fly off the shelf.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The news anchors who were discussing his speech were saying it was very scripted. Of course it was! I think more people would have been angry if he went up there and winged it. He would have gotten mad and went off on a tangent, then he would have forgotten what he was going to say next. SO..... Thank you Tiger for rehearsing your speech and writing it down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From what I understand, the media was wanting to ask him questions, but that wasn't allowed. Seriously, you wanted to ask him questions? What is there to answer? He already said that he wasn't discussing the affairs with them, so what would you get out of a question like that. I can imagine how this press conference would go.....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Media: Tiger, how many affairs did you have and with who?&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: I already said, that's a matter between me and my wife.&lt;br /&gt;Media: Do you have a love child?&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: I already said, that's a matter between me and my wife.&lt;br /&gt;Media: Are you going to get a divorce?&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: I already said, that's a matter between me and my wife.&lt;br /&gt;Media: When are you coming back to golf?&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: I already said, I'm not sure when that will be.&lt;br /&gt;Media: Are you sorry?&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: I already apologized about a million times. Yes I'm sorry. Were you listening?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Do you get where I'm going with this? The point of all of this is: Tiger made mistakes, but so did the women he cheated with. We can't forget about the women! I already covered that topic...... moving on. He's human. Everyone makes mistakes. When there's a perfect person in this world, which I'm confident there's not, then that person can judge him. I heard that there was protesters at this event. What was there to protest? What would their signs say? "Don't listen to Tiger, he's a cheater!" DUH. "He's a sinner!" Yes, but so are you. Someone should have protested the protesters. I feel as thought those who stood outside the gates at that place were wasting their time. Those are minutes of their lives they'll never get back. And neither will I for writing about them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-4611387334543724058?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/4611387334543724058/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/tiger-woods-again.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4611387334543724058'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4611387334543724058'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/tiger-woods-again.html' title='Tiger Woods... Again'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-7876781895257405226</id><published>2010-02-17T10:58:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-17T11:12:17.899-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Nicholas Sparks</title><content type='html'>I've been reading Nicholas Sparks' "The Last Song" for the past three days. I'm almost to the end and it's becoming so hard to put the book down! Last night, I wasn't feeling well, and had every intention of going to bed early. That was until I picked up my book and began to read. Two hours had passed and at this point, I was trying to convince myself that as soon as I finished that last page, or last chapter, I'd go to bed. I was trying to find a good stopping point, but quickly realized that that didn't exist. I don't know how Nicholas Sparks does it, but his writing is amazing. I can't wait to go home and finish this book!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-7876781895257405226?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/7876781895257405226/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/nicholas-sparks.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7876781895257405226'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7876781895257405226'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/nicholas-sparks.html' title='Nicholas Sparks'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-7786129130924783080</id><published>2010-02-15T08:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-15T08:51:53.047-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Valentines Weekend</title><content type='html'>This weekend turned out pretty good. Of course, I wish I could have skipped work and Aaron's tummy ache, but still, I'll put it on the top of the list of good weekends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday morning, Cait and I went to the gym. Nothing too important to note, but we did have a good workout. Then I had an afternoon of beauty planned with Aaron. We put our hands in the paraffin wax machine, and laid on the couch with cucumbers on our eyes. We had nice relaxing music playing, that was trying to drown out the noise from the washer, dryer and dishwasher. It was still nice though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did a little on line shopping last week and my package finally arrived Saturday morning! I love getting packages. It's like Christmas on my doorstep, except I already know what's in the box. I've been dreaming about hot summer days, and decided to prepare by buying a few warm weather items. I can't use any of it right now, but I did see a clutch I couldn't resist. This fabulous new purse made it's debut Saturday night at dinner and got it's very first compliment. I love it when that happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had planned on going to an Illini hockey game after dinner, but we didn't get out of the restaurant on time, so we went to the mall instead. We had a few things to pick up, but I can never resist going to Express, it's my new favorite store. I went nuts and bought two pairs of yoga pants, two shirts, and two necklaces. LOVE IT!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaaaaand now it's Valentine's Day, also known as our 7 year anniversary!  I made french toast and eggs for breakfast, then Aaron and I exchanged gifts. I couldn't have asked for a better, more useful gift. Aaron gave me 5 Nicholas Sparks books! I started "The Last Song" and it's so good already! After I got home from work, Aaron cooked me dinner. He didn't quite care for it, but I thought it was good, especially since he doesn't ever cook. We spent the rest of the night playing Wii and eating ice cream. It was a wonderful weekend, but not nearly long enough!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-7786129130924783080?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/7786129130924783080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/valentines-weekend.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7786129130924783080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7786129130924783080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/valentines-weekend.html' title='Valentines Weekend'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-3990622149004801443</id><published>2010-02-12T10:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-12T10:28:36.631-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Groceries</title><content type='html'>Grocery shopping......where to begin? If I had to put grocery shopping on a list of my least favorite activities, it'd probably be in the top five. There's always someone who parks their cart all wonky in the aisle so I can't pass and a cashier who can't bag groceries. I must be cursed because it happens every time I go to the store. Yesterday was no exception.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I usually buy a lot of produce and fresh meat. I hate freezing meat, so I never have it on hand when I need it. Needless to say, I'm at the grocery store a lot. Last night, I bought green onions, lettuce, bananas, apples and chicken. Of course, there were a few other items, but those aren't as important. I usually request that the meat go in a separate bag, but I thought this cashier would use common sense and not bag everything together. I was wrong. So, where did the chicken go? That's right. Directly on top of the apples. The chicken is sealed, and the apples are in a bag of their own, but what happens if the wrap on the chicken is punctured and I get chicken juice all over my apples? That's disgusting to me. I don't want to eat an apple, or lettuce for that matter, that's been sitting in a pool of chicken juice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've learned my lesson. I will always tell the cashier/grocery bagger how to do their job, because clearly, they need some guidance.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-3990622149004801443?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/3990622149004801443/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/groceries.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3990622149004801443'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3990622149004801443'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/groceries.html' title='Groceries'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-5846457985991356564</id><published>2010-02-11T08:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-11T08:48:21.351-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh, the gym.</title><content type='html'>Last night, Cait and I hit the gym. We did our weight training routine and 5K workout. We're up to 90 seconds of running and 2 minutes of walking! It's no secret that I'm a people watcher.  I usually observe what people are wearing and what equipment they are using. But last night, there was this one guy who had on bright yellow headphones with a long cord leading into his pocket. As I watched him lift weights, I began to wonder when Apple started making bright yellow headphones like that. Then it hit me. He didn't have an ipod in his pocket, it was a perfect, bulky circle. He was rocking an old school portable CD player. After seeing him, it made me realize how old I am going to seem to my own children. I thought my parents A-track players and records were weird, our cassette tapes, CD players, original nintendos, and rabbit ears on the TV will make me seem ancient to my children.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S3Q0ssK5AGI/AAAAAAAADQ4/Vq_Ot4uXBcw/s1600-h/player.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 280px; height: 280px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S3Q0ssK5AGI/AAAAAAAADQ4/Vq_Ot4uXBcw/s320/player.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5437028592518758498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-5846457985991356564?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/5846457985991356564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/oh-gym.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5846457985991356564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5846457985991356564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/oh-gym.html' title='Oh, the gym.'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S3Q0ssK5AGI/AAAAAAAADQ4/Vq_Ot4uXBcw/s72-c/player.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-5403247313679272414</id><published>2010-02-10T10:45:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-10T10:56:25.029-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sleep</title><content type='html'>Many people can't fall asleep because they are too busy thinking/worrying about the next days events. I usually fall asleep straight away, but there have been times that I've laid there for hours wishing myself to sleep. Last night, as I was about to drift off, a song popped into my head and I couldn't remember the lyrics. I don't know why I thought of this song, but once I write the words, you'll be singing it all day in your head like I am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yankee Doodle went to town,&lt;br /&gt;A-Riding on a pony;&lt;br /&gt;He stuck a feather in his cap,&lt;br /&gt;And called it macaroni.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you Google for helping remember this annoying song. If I hadn't been so lazy last night, I could have gotten out of bed, Googled the lyrics, and gone to sleep peacefully. Damn meatloaf made me go crazy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-5403247313679272414?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/5403247313679272414/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/sleep.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5403247313679272414'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5403247313679272414'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/sleep.html' title='Sleep'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1758739608766211580</id><published>2010-02-09T12:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-09T13:49:25.395-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oil Change</title><content type='html'>I hate car repairs and simple car maintenance. I don't like pumping gas, taking my car for an oil change, or even filling the tires with air. I have a wonderful husband who will take my car for repairs and pump the gas, but today, I had to take the dreaded trip to Jiffy Lube to get the oil changed. I cringe every time I think of that place. I pulled into the lot and a Jiffy Lube employee came out and told me to pop open the hood. We had a brief conversation about this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jiffy Lube dude: You'll need to pop open the hood.&lt;br /&gt;Beth: I don't know how to do that.&lt;br /&gt;Jiffy Lube dude: There's a lever in your car.&lt;br /&gt;Beth: Ok, but where?&lt;br /&gt;Jiffy Lube dude: It should over here (pointing to somewhere in my car)&lt;br /&gt;Beth: I don't see it.&lt;br /&gt;Jiffy Lube dude: Because of insurance reasons, I can't open the hood for you.&lt;br /&gt;Beth: Umm... Ok....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Needless to say, I finally found it. But while this exchange was going on, the Jiffy Lube guy had a cigarette in his hand that he was trying to hide. I almost told him to throw it out before he stepped foot in my car, but I think the stare down I gave him was enough of a warning and he threw it out. (Trying to hide a cigarette is like trying to hide poop. It's very easy to tell when someone is pooping or smoking.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hadn't been to this particular Jiffy Lube before, but I thought it would be like a department store or a place that actually stored your personal information. I guessed wrong. I had to give them the usual information: name, address, and phone number. I spelled my last name, since it's a bit tricky, but when I gave them my first name, ELIZABETH, he said "Elizabeth,  E-L-............. uh...." I had to chime in "I-Z-A" then he finished it "B-E-T-H!!!". I always thought I had a nice, normal name. It's spelled traditionally without extra vowels, or silent Q's, but apparently it's still difficult to sound out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went back to the waiting area and began thinking about the comment that the Jiffy Lube employee made about not being able to open the hood of my car because of insurance reasons. How is it a liability to open the hood if I am giving him permission by bringing my car to him and paying for a service? How are these people able to drive my car without insurance issues but can't open the hood?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought the Jiffy Lube experience was over once I got in my car and began to pull away when I started to smell something. The aroma of rotten eggs began to sting my nostrils. I still don't know where it was coming from, but I rolled down my window and drove back to my office with snow pelting me in the face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd really like to see a classy car repair/oil change service. Maybe a place that felt more like a spa than a dirty, stinky garage.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1758739608766211580?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1758739608766211580/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/oil-change.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1758739608766211580'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1758739608766211580'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/oil-change.html' title='Oil Change'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-2809118532178721322</id><published>2010-02-04T07:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-04T07:48:30.819-08:00</updated><title type='text'>5K Training</title><content type='html'>Last night was our first official day of 5K training. Caitlin found a training workout online that was so fitting for us. It's the couch to 5K running plan. When I googled it, I literally searched for "Couch potato to 5K". For the first week, we are to walk for 5 minutes, then alternate between 60 seconds of jogging and 90 seconds of walking for 20 minutes. Surprisingly, we did it! I feel really good today, I'm not sore, but give it time, I'm sure I'll tighten up. The training gets harder each week, but since we're starting off slow, and we've already been going to the gym for 2 months, we should be able to handle it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The scale is still my enemy. I gained five pounds when we started the gym. I know it's because my metabolism had started to increase and I was eating more, but all the wrong things. I'm back in action and working hard to lose the five pounds, and a little more. But why doesn't it come off faster? I hardly have any clothes that fit anymore. That's my real goal, to wear all the clothes I have put away for last couple of months.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-2809118532178721322?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/2809118532178721322/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/5k-training.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2809118532178721322'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2809118532178721322'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/5k-training.html' title='5K Training'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1376909114277258111</id><published>2010-02-02T07:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-02T07:48:28.774-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Astrology</title><content type='html'>I thought I had read every article related to diet and fitness until today. I came across an article I couldn't resist reading even though I knew it was complete B.S. The heading on msn.com read "Fitness plan by sign". Intrigued, I clicked on the link where I was directed to page with your astrology sign, and a paragraph underneath each heading. Mine was actually very accurate, but when I read all the others, they were too. Here's what they said about a Gemini.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="standard12" id="textline"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Gemini needs a buddy to support any lasting lifestyle change. You will be smart to set up a "Resolution Blog" to share your experiences and receive much needed feedback to keep you motivated. For you, a walk around any busy neighborhood can make exercising a breeze. Gemini is curious and will benefit from reading food labels. A powerful resolution in terms of weight loss and overall health would be to refuse to buy anything containing high fructose corn syrup. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that they could have said this for every astrology sign and it'd work for them. Basically, it could have said "Get off the couch for an hour a day and walk, then eat smaller portions, and avoid unhealthy foods".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's the article if you're interested: &lt;a href="http://astrocenter.astrology.msn.com/msn/ArticleAstrologyHomeV2.aspx?sd=20100105&amp;amp;gt1=21001"&gt;http://astrocenter.astrology.msn.com/msn/ArticleAstrologyHomeV2.aspx?sd=20100105&amp;amp;gt1=21001&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1376909114277258111?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1376909114277258111/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/astrology.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1376909114277258111'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1376909114277258111'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/astrology.html' title='Astrology'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-4371329887494575172</id><published>2010-02-01T13:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T13:52:24.312-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Two posts in one day!</title><content type='html'>Look at me go! I never though I'd have enough to say to write more than one post a day, but sure enough, my last meeting has provided more material.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't think it's a secret that I love my job. I really like the people I work with and it's really flexible here, but of course, there are some people who aren't my favorite all the time. I like to think that I'm a fast learner, mostly because I've been told I am, but because I'm a problem solver. I like to learn new things and at this job, wow, there's a lot to learn. I've been at my job for 4 months, I don't know if that's still considered new, but I think I have the basic processes down pat. I could create an entire list of my pet peeves, but I don't have that kind of time. The gist of it is, if I know the process and the work flow order after 4 months on the job, how come some people can't grasp this concept after years? I'd like to sit and vent more, but there is work to be done!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-4371329887494575172?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/4371329887494575172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/two-posts-in-one-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4371329887494575172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4371329887494575172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/two-posts-in-one-day.html' title='Two posts in one day!'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1722250504344944685</id><published>2010-02-01T08:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-02-01T09:01:04.855-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My funny husband</title><content type='html'>I don't know how to put it, other than, my husband says the damnedest things. He means to say one thing, but for some reason, that's not what comes out. For example, one day, he said "I think what I thought". I usually know what he  means and we laugh about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Friday night, we went to the drive up window at the Dairy Queen so I could get a delicious cheeseburger. I don't know why but I usually have little spurts where I have to have a certain type of food for weeks at a time, then they go away and soon, I start craving other types of food. Lately it's been cheeseburgers and bagels. The Dairy Queen in Monticello has fantastic cheeseburgers. It's the only fast food I'll eat. I get a cheeseburger with pickles and a cup of ketchup so I can dip my sandwich in it. Well Aaron was handing me my food from the girl in the window and when he was handing me my cup of ketchup, he wouldn't let go of it. I thought he was being funny and trying to ruin my cheeseburger by not letting me have the ketchup, so I said "Give me my ketchup" and he responded "well if you'd let go of my pickle!". I laughed until I cried. I guess I had a hold of his finger, which he, for some reason, referred to his as his pickle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could go on and on about the funny things he says, but I think you get the point.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1722250504344944685?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1722250504344944685/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/my-funny-husband.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1722250504344944685'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1722250504344944685'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/02/my-funny-husband.html' title='My funny husband'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-3910919231865948534</id><published>2010-01-29T13:17:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-29T13:28:16.087-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The things I hear</title><content type='html'>It's crazy the things I hear through my cubicle walls. It provides some good material for blog posts, but as I sit here writing, my 'neighbor' and some other guy are having an entire conversation about the origin of the phrase "I'll bust a cap in your ass". One of them thinks that it originally referred to putting you knee cap in someones ass, and not a bullet. According to this guy, the phrase also came from Ireland. Really, Ireland? Anyhow, they decided to look it up on UrbanDictionary.com and so did I. Here's what they have to say: "The origin of&lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; bust a cap meaning to discharge a firearm has become a general threat of violence with the implication that a gun will be involved. To threaten to bust a cap in someones ass is also not intended to be anatomically specific, as kick ass &lt;span style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt; or whip your ass are not descriptive of specific actions against someones posterior".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm glad that's settled!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-3910919231865948534?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/3910919231865948534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/things-i-hear.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3910919231865948534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3910919231865948534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/things-i-hear.html' title='The things I hear'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-4140526388625579000</id><published>2010-01-26T10:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-26T10:30:20.237-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Par-A-Dice</title><content type='html'>We went to the riverboat this weekend, but our luck stayed at home. I'm not really into gambling, but every once in awhile I'll play the penny slots. I don't know how some people can gamble all the time and spend hours upon hours at one machine tapping the little button. I got bored after 2 minutes and moved to a new slot. Lets just say, casinos aren't my thing. I had a lot of fun with my friends, so I'd call the night a success.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before we went to the casino, I was on babysitting duty. Little Patrick is such a cutey! I thought he'd be awake most of the day smiling and giggling, with the occasional cry because he was hungry. Nope. He was a tired little man and took 4 naps. I think I was expecting a lot out of a three month old baby. He was such a doll though, I loved having him over.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-4140526388625579000?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/4140526388625579000/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/par-dice.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4140526388625579000'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4140526388625579000'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/par-dice.html' title='Par-A-Dice'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1532209826214984771</id><published>2010-01-21T07:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-21T07:59:53.357-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What a day!</title><content type='html'>There has been a few interesting tidbits from yesterday and today that I found interesting. The first one is my doctors appointment.  I had an appointment to get my eyes checked and I had to wait quite awhile, as usual, and there were no magazines in the room. What did they expect me to do? I literally stared at the wall until the doctor arrived. I've been having a bit of blurry vision lately and decided to get it checked. After I described the situation to the doc, he said "it's probably happening because you're getting older". Really? That's all I get? I'm 24, not 50! Thankfully, he investigated further. I guess I have chronic dry eye, and my left eye is over compensating for the lack of vision in my right eye and it's a mess. I have eye drops to try, if that doesn't work, I have to go see a different doctor and get glasses. We'll see if those drops work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had an interesting evening after that. He &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;dilated&lt;/span&gt; my eyes and I couldn't really do anything. Aaron came to the grocery store for me and read everything for me. I could see colors, and I knew what things were, but I really didn't know if it was the right thing. I bought queso dip and we always get medium. I grabbed four different kinds of the cheese because they all had different colored labels and I had to take them to Aaron so he could tell me which one was correct.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Work always provides some interesting topics for blogs. We have mailing lists that you can subscribe to and everyone chats about different topics. Some are for recipes or sports, but there's on for socializing, I guess. It's called L-social, so people just talk about whatever they want. Today someone asked about how to get their neighbors dogs in their complex to be quiet. There were some very helpful suggestions, but one guy (the Australian dude as I call him) posted a suggestion that I found quite funny.  He simply said "I'm sure you can find this somewhere" with links to two different websites.  I didn't read much about it, but I think he was suggesting given the dogs a poison. Or maybe it works as a sedative for a dog. I don't suggest doing this, and I certainly don't condone this type of behavior, but after reading all the helpful hints, I was expecting something just the same. Nope.&lt;br /&gt;http://www.wolframalpha.com/input/?i=Strychnine&lt;br /&gt;http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Strychnine&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1532209826214984771?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1532209826214984771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/what-day.html#comment-form' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1532209826214984771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1532209826214984771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/what-day.html' title='What a day!'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-7141307134177107639</id><published>2010-01-20T07:31:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-20T07:49:19.784-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The lovely Wii</title><content type='html'>I got the Wii and Wii fit for Christmas.  I really do love it, but I don't have much time to play.  I haven't gotten on the Wii fit in about 10 days, but I don't feel guilty at all because I've been to the gym.  The Wii fit doesn't offer a true workout, one that would make you sweat, and sore all over to the point where you can't walk. Those are the kinds of workouts I enjoy.  Aaron and I use the Wii fit as a competition.  He'll play and beat my score then I'll get on and beat his. It's actually pretty fun. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Wii likes to be honest with you.  If you get on and gain a few pounds, it doesn't have a problem telling you and asking why that is.  But yesterday, Aaron played and when the game started up, it asked him where I was, it hadn't seen me in 10 days.  There's no hiding from that thing now is there? I wish I could tell it my work schedule, how little sleep I've had, and how often I've been going to the gym.  There's a setting that you can tell it how many calories you've consumed in day, or how much extra activity you've had, but I haven't played around with it long enough to find it.  I'll make a Wii fit appearance tonight, before I go do my actual workout.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-7141307134177107639?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/7141307134177107639/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/lovely-wii.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7141307134177107639'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7141307134177107639'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/lovely-wii.html' title='The lovely Wii'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-6198068984344048047</id><published>2010-01-18T09:26:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-18T09:47:50.107-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Weekend</title><content type='html'>I usually don't ever get a relaxing weekend. I work on Sundays, so the only day I get off all week is Saturday. I usually cram anything and everything into that one day because I accomplish nothing during the week. Lately I haven't had any free Saturdays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This Saturday we went to Indianapolis to shop then have dinner with Aaron's family. We left in the afternoon so I got to go workout in the morning and cook lunch. That workout was amazing. An hour of cardio and then 30 minutes of weights. That's about all I accomplished though. Shopping was fun. We didn't buy too much. There's a store that sells decorative items for the home and we went to town. It was inexpensive so we got 5 pictures to hang on our walls. We really needed them though, it still looks like we just moved in and we've been there three years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dinner was fun. We got there 15 minutes early because we were starving and had an appetizer while we waited. 15 minutes early turned into an hour because the group was late. As we sat at the bar eating our bruschetta (which was soooo delicious) the bartender tried getting me drunk. At least, that's what I thought he was trying to do with his "happy pour" and "free sample". I had a glass of wine with the bruschetta, then he handed me a shot glass full of some type of fruity something that would have knocked me on my ass if I had a few more. I asked for another glass of wine a little bit later to take back to the table with me to drink during dinner. He then gave me what he referred to as a "happy pour". Usually restaurants only fill the glass half way, but this guy barely left any room at the top. I guess I got two glasses for the price of one. I was happy to take it, but I knew I'd be so sleepy on the way home because of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I worked at the restaurant on Sunday which was terrible. The same thing happens every year so I'm not surprised at all. By about mid-January, business drops off and it's so slow. I don't know whether to blame this on holiday shopping, new years resolutions, or the cold. It'll be march before I see any action again. On a lighter note, I started reading my book while I was at work. 3 pages down, a bazillion more to go! I would have read more, but I got sent home due to lack of business.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our Christmas tree is finally back to its home in the attic. We've been meaning to take it down for weeks now, but I didn't really feel like it. It looks so pretty and I don't think I had enough time to enjoy it. I guess Christmas is officially over. Only 11 months and a few days until Christmas rolls around again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also made a cake last night. I didn't eat the whole cake, only a piece. This is what it looked like when I put it away. Funny reminder I know. It was a pink cake with white frosting, but you get the idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S1SenaG9naI/AAAAAAAADO0/k-cWdwxyN-8/s1600-h/pacman.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 122px; height: 135px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S1SenaG9naI/AAAAAAAADO0/k-cWdwxyN-8/s320/pacman.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5428137850748902818" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-6198068984344048047?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/6198068984344048047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/weekend.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6198068984344048047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6198068984344048047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/weekend.html' title='Weekend'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S1SenaG9naI/AAAAAAAADO0/k-cWdwxyN-8/s72-c/pacman.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-8551619377312640131</id><published>2010-01-15T07:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-15T07:39:38.816-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh what to say?</title><content type='html'>I usually try to start my blog with a theme of some sort, but I can't think of one, so I'm going to tell you everything that comes to mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cardio, Cardio, and more Cardio! Last night Caitlin and I successfully completed an entire hour of Cardio. We rode the bikes, did the crazy eliptical that's not really an eliptical thingy, and treadmill. It felt good! I can honestly say that all this working out is making me feel so much better during the day. I haven't been able to see the results on the scale, or in my clothes yet, but the peace of mind knowing that it'll happen eventually is enough for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'd give an update on my new years resolutions but there really isn't one. I still haven't started reading the book I chose, I haven't cleaned my car, and I've only tried one new recipe this year. Oh well, at least I've been going to the gym. Working out is the most important resolution that I made and if I keep that one, all the rest don't really matter. I'll work on them again next year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There's a blog on oprah.com that I love to read. Oprah's senior producer for her website is on a weight loss regime and her first goal is to lose 100 pounds. Last time I got to read it, she was 9.2 pounds away! Then they redesigned the oprah website and the link is broken and I can't find the blog. It's driving me nuts! I even reported the bug to the people over at oprah. They still haven't fixed it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait for summer. All this snow and dreary weather is taking it's toll. I'm longing for the days that I can go for walks and sit by the pool. There's very little that I don't like about summer. Of course I could do without the bugs, but it's a small sacrifice for the long sunny days and heat! I secretly have been checking travel websites hoping I can find a rediculously cheap deal on a Mexican vacation. I think I have a case of the indoor blues. Last night, I grilled steak in the snow. I thought that since the weather was a tad warmer all the snow on the deck would melt. WRONG. Please summer, HURRY.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of summer, it'll be wedding season again soon. So far, we only have one wedding this year! YAY! Last year was packed full of weddings and events. It was so much fun, but I'm glad that this year we get to settle down a bit. Last night I went with Pam, my future sister in law, to try on bridesmaid dresses. I really like it. It hides the bad parts but accentuates the good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S1CLqfxu2PI/AAAAAAAADNk/ab-vcqzrJFo/s1600-h/bmaid+dress.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 230px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S1CLqfxu2PI/AAAAAAAADNk/ab-vcqzrJFo/s320/bmaid+dress.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5426991113182304498" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&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/669899654862473322-8551619377312640131?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/8551619377312640131/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/oh-what-to-say.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8551619377312640131'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8551619377312640131'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/oh-what-to-say.html' title='Oh what to say?'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S1CLqfxu2PI/AAAAAAAADNk/ab-vcqzrJFo/s72-c/bmaid+dress.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1142900514665497459</id><published>2010-01-11T09:11:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-11T09:19:28.505-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Kitchen Sink</title><content type='html'>I thought we were having plumbing problems again on Saturday. I was cleaning the kitchen and the side of the sink with the disposal worked just fine, but the other one wouldn't drain any water. I boiled some water and was just about to use baking soda and vinegar to try to get things flowing again, when Aaron came in and said he'd just take the sink apart to fix it. I had already dumped some boiling water down the drain so he had to wait a bit. He used a bucket and dumped all the water from the pipes into it when he noticed an egg. This is how the conversation went, he was yelling into the other room because I was doing laundry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: There was an egg in the drain.&lt;br /&gt;Beth: An egg? A whole egg?&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: Yes, an egg.&lt;br /&gt;Beth: Like an entire egg.&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: That's what I said, an egg.&lt;br /&gt;Beth: How could I have put an egg in the drain?&lt;br /&gt;Aaron: I don't know, but there's an egg in here.&lt;br /&gt;Beth: Let me see it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I though I was going to find a real egg. A white one that was stuck in the drain so water couldn't pass through. It wasn't. It was an egg yolk. I must have needed an egg white and put the yolk down the drain. I don't remember doing this, but it clogged the sink. Funny part was, the boiling water I put down there cooked the yolk a little. Lesson learned, no more egg yolk in the sink. OOPS.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1142900514665497459?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1142900514665497459/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/kitchen-sink.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1142900514665497459'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1142900514665497459'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/kitchen-sink.html' title='Kitchen Sink'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-7969632003125122269</id><published>2010-01-08T08:09:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-08T08:53:55.606-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Some tips</title><content type='html'>I've decided on a new angle for my list of tips. Instead of telling others what they should be doing, I'm going to tell you what I plan on doing. It'll be handy for some, but mostly, it's a great place to keep track of my future plans so I don't forget. Remember, it's hard, but I'd rather have polite, well behaved children so it'll be worth the effort. Besides, manners are free!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. There's a difference between a treat and a snack. Treats are candies, cupcakes, cookies... basically anything unhealthy. Treats are not to be used in between meals because they can be an excellent bargaining chip. You want your child to do something, promise a treat in the end and they'll probably do what you ask. If they don't get the treat all the time, they'll be happy to behave to get one. Snacks are what you use when the kid is hungry. These are healthy foods that you can give your child whenever they ask for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Don't give you child any unhealthy food when it's too young to ask for it. If a kid doesn't know what a pepsi is, why would you put it in a sippy cup? This is the only time in the child's life that you have complete control, use it to your advantage. Stuff them full of the healthy foods before they realize there's a difference.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. The TV is not a babysitter. Enough said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Dinner time is not for TV watching or game playing. I've seen it a thousand times, people come into the restaurant with their kids and they have tiny DVD players sitting in front of the children or they have those hand held video games. When the kids have those, they don't listen, and throw a fit when the food comes. You can use TV and video games as treats too. Teach your children table manners instead of pawning them off on technology.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Don't give your child a car. What 16 year old really needs a car. They did fine without one at 15, why do they all of a sudden have to have one. Here's my plan. To focus my childrens attention on hard work and SAVINGS, I'm going to match what my child has saved so they can buy a car. This way they'll learn how to work hard for something they want. And learn that saving for something can be rewarding. I'm killing two birds with one stone here. I guess I'm kind of giving my child a car by matching what they have saved, but lets be honest here, I won't be spending that much (really, will they have enough for a BMW, probably not) and there will be stipulations as well. For example, both mom and dad have to approve of the vehicle. The child can pick it, but we have to decide if it's safe/practical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. College. OH BOY. Of course I want my kids to go to college, but I do know that college isn't for everyone. That's why there's trade schools, etc. I won't require a 4-year degree, but I'll hope and pray for one. I'll only require the kids to further their education in some way and have a career. I will not be supporting them for the rest of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Why put up with toys/clothes everywhere. I'll have no problem donating or throwing away my kids' things. They can respect the things I give them, or I'll take them away. It works I promise. For example, my mom threatened me all the time that if I kept slamming my bedroom door shut that she'd take it off the hinges. One day, she actually did it. Boy did that suck. I had to earn my door back and learned my lesson. I didn't slam it shut ever again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I have more, but I think this is getting pretty long. If I can think of something uber important, I'll add to it. But I think you get the idea.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-7969632003125122269?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/7969632003125122269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/some-tips.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7969632003125122269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7969632003125122269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/some-tips.html' title='Some tips'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-5589127924709744178</id><published>2010-01-06T08:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-06T08:26:02.574-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Resolution update</title><content type='html'>I've made so many resolution this year, as I do every year, and I thought I'd let the world know how I'm doing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first resolution was to read one book a month. I've picked the book, but I haven't started yet. I have a list of books that I want to read, but I haven't made any progress on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I need to go to the gym five times a week. I only have four times a week scheduled, but I do have a Wii fit so maybe I should modify this one a bit. I'll go to the gym four times a week and do the Wii fit at least once a week, but I usually do it more since it's so much fun!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started my cooking resolutions this week. So far, I cooked dinner Monday night, and used a new recipe! That knocks out my other resolution for the week. WOOT WOOT! But the recipe sucked. It was chicken and vegetables with bow-tie pasta. It looked delicious and got a 5 star rating, but I think I over cooked the veggies and they ended up being tasteless and mushy. Tonight I'm cooking again. I'm making meatloaf and mashed potatoes. YUM!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said I would keep my car clean from here on out, but that would require me to clean my car first which I have yet to do. OOPS. I'll get on it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was I thinking when I vowed to pay off all my debt by the end of the year? That's definitely not going to happen, but it will be payed down considerably. I'm striving for 'gone completely' but I don't have time for a third job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've made a cleaning schedule for the house before, but I didn't actually clean things when I said I would. I have a problem when it comes to cleaning. I don't do anything all week long, then on Saturday and Sunday mornings, I try to clean my entire house top to bottom. I end up exhausted and not refreshed like I'm supposed to. If I keep to the schedule and clean little bits throughout the week, I really won't have much to do on the weekends. I'll work on the schedule today and get back to you on my progress next week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;PS. To all you parents who read my last blog, don't worry, I'm still working on that list of tips. Stay tuned!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-5589127924709744178?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/5589127924709744178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/resolution-update.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5589127924709744178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5589127924709744178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/resolution-update.html' title='Resolution update'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-1100127644336994756</id><published>2010-01-05T07:40:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-05T08:03:00.925-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Parents</title><content type='html'>To all the parents of the world, I have some news for you. I don't have any children of my own yet, but there are some things I would like to share with you about kids nowadays. My high school and college years aren't too far behind me, and I can tell you, your kids are doing the exact same things I did. Now for the news.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Your children are not perfect. They will screw up eventually and you can't take their side. How are you going to parent your child when you are constantly defending their stupid ideas? YOU CAN'T. Although it is hard, when your child does something dumb, recognize it, and tell them their actions were such, then punish them for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. There are only a few high school students who do not drink, or have not had any alcohol up to this point. Your kid is probably not one of them. If little Jane tells  you this is her first time drinking, it's probably a lie. I know you want to trust your kids, but most of what they tell you is complete B.S. They may be telling the truth sometimes, but it won't be the whole truth. For example: little Jane says "I only had one beer." that is code for "I really had three, maybe four, I can't remember."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. No one can make your child do anything. Can you make your kid do something? I didn't think so. When little Jane says "My friend Bob made me do it." That means that they don't want to take responsibility for their actions and they would rather you be mad at Bob than them. Now that you dislike Bob and didn't punish Jane, she's happy as a clam.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Your child won't die if you take something away from them. Is it really punishment if they can drive themselves where ever they want to go, talk/text all day long on the cell phone you provide, and hang out with their friends? NO.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. They also won't hate you if you take things away. You're the parent, not best friend, act like one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Your child's drama is not your drama. If little Jane hates little Susie that doesn't mean you have to be mean to little Susie's parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was probably the most difficult teenager to raise. I'm extremely independent and could fool anyone. Or at least I thought I could. It's hard to listen to someone who doesn't have children, but believe me, I've been through it all and I could predict your child's behavior better than anyone else. I'll compile a list of tips if you're interested. Keep an eye out for those.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-1100127644336994756?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/1100127644336994756/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/dear-parents.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1100127644336994756'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/1100127644336994756'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/dear-parents.html' title='Dear Parents'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-8186598358871661855</id><published>2010-01-04T13:45:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-04T13:58:15.676-08:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>Some days, I'm bursting with ideas and things I want to write about. But on days like today, NADA. Sorry peeps, I've got nothing. I had a four day weekend and I can't really think of anything worth writing about. I guess I could tell you about my Saturday. Aaron and I decided to go make all our Christmas returns. BAD IDEA. Everything was picked through and all the checkout people were not helpful at all. It was a useless trip, that's for sure. Then we went to Jupiter's 2 for dinner. I wanted a virgin strawberry daiquiri instead my usual miller lite. It's part of my new years resolution, all bazillion of them, to cut back on the alcohol. WELL, I got carded. The waitress asked to see my ID. I looked at her all funny and asked 'Really? You want my license for a virgin drink?' she responded 'Yes'. I asked again 'You want me to show you my ID even though I don't want any alcohol?'. LIGHT BULB. She finally got it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The entire time we were away from our house, I felt like everyone we encountered had been hit with a stupid stick. I couldn't wait to get home.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-8186598358871661855?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/8186598358871661855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/some-days-im-bursting-with-ideas-and.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8186598358871661855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/8186598358871661855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2010/01/some-days-im-bursting-with-ideas-and.html' title=''/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-491963577911829256</id><published>2009-12-30T08:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-30T08:30:35.382-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tiger</title><content type='html'>I have a few thoughts on the Tiger Woods scandal that I'd like to share. First, I'm very sick of hearing about it. I like gossip just as much as the next person, but now I have to hear about all the money  his sponsors are losing. I don't want to take Tigers side at all because what he did was wrong, but it takes two to cheat. The women he cheated with are to blame as well. Not all men are going to cheat, but maybe if women got a bit smarter, then men wouldn't have anyone to cheat with!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few scenarios for thought:&lt;br /&gt;Number one.&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: Hello, I'm Tiger Woods. Nice to meet you.&lt;br /&gt;Woman (not the wifey): Hello, nice to meet you too.&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: Want to hook up?&lt;br /&gt;Woman: No, you're married and I'm not dirty&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: But my marriage is on the rocks, I think we're going to divorce&lt;br /&gt;Woman: Go to therapy.&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: What if it doesn't work?&lt;br /&gt;Woman: Then at least you'd know  you tried your hardest to make it work.&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: Can I call you if I do get a divorce?&lt;br /&gt;Woman: No, I'm not going to be a rebound girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Number two.&lt;br /&gt;Tiger: I feel like having an affair.&lt;br /&gt;Woman: Go home to your wife. I googled you and you're married with children. I'm not breaking up a happy home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Point of the story: Women, get smarter. If you don't want a guy to cheat on you, quit sleeping around. Guys lie. Of course they are going to tell you they are single. It's an old saying but still so true: No one is going to buy the cow if you keep giving the milk away for free.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-491963577911829256?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/491963577911829256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/tiger.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/491963577911829256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/491963577911829256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/tiger.html' title='Tiger'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-2389971153354259843</id><published>2009-12-29T08:46:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-29T08:56:13.606-08:00</updated><title type='text'>New Years Resolution</title><content type='html'>It's that time of year again. People everywhere vow to give up their favorite vices in order to start the new year off right. The gyms will be packed for about 3 weeks, and nicorette sales will most likely rise. Each year I make about 100 resolutions, none of which I fully keep. I don't have too many bad habits, I don't smoke, eat fast food, drink too much, and I already workout, so what should I 'give up' or 'take up' for that matter? I've created a list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Read at least 1 book a month&lt;br /&gt;2. Go to the gym 5 times a week&lt;br /&gt;3. Cook dinner every night that I'm not working. So 5 times a week....eeck!&lt;br /&gt;4. Keep my car clean&lt;br /&gt;5. Try at least 1 new recipe a week&lt;br /&gt;6. Pay off all my debt by the end of the year...ha&lt;br /&gt;7. Keep a cleaning schedule for the house&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Basically, what I'm trying to achieve here is perfection. That really won't happen, but for about a month, I'll try really hard, then wait for the next year to roll around so I can try again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-2389971153354259843?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/2389971153354259843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/new-years-resolution.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2389971153354259843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2389971153354259843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/new-years-resolution.html' title='New Years Resolution'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-3768617134506402424</id><published>2009-12-28T07:56:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-28T08:19:11.303-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Wii</title><content type='html'>I got a Wii for Christmas! I've been wanting one of these for so long! Saturday morning, after we put everything together, I jumped on the Wii fit and did a little workout. I'm really bad at it! I was improving by the end but when I first started, it wasn't pretty. Aaron jumped in on the Wii action Saturday night and we played all sorts of sports games. We bowled, played baseball, tennis and golf. My arm is killing me today. I hope this pain goes away soon, because I want to play more. We should have gotten one of these sooner!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've heard both good and bad things about the Wii fit. Some say it doesn't work at all, and others swear by it. When I workout, I really need to sweat and feel exhausted in the end. I feel as though the Wii fit will work for people who would otherwise sit and play video games, not stand up and interact with it. Those people will be the ones who benefit from the game. I've never been much of a gamer. I get bored too quickly and I hate sitting for long periods of time. I think the Wii and Wii fit will provide me with hours of endless entertainment.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-3768617134506402424?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/3768617134506402424/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/wii.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3768617134506402424'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3768617134506402424'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/wii.html' title='Wii'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-2181907545172146949</id><published>2009-12-22T07:15:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-22T07:39:02.822-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Catching Up</title><content type='html'>I've been slacking on my blog lately. I haven't found anything too exciting to say. It's been a bit boring on the home front but a few fun things have happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to be a Godmother. Yes, that's right, I have a Godson. Little Patrick is the most adorable, cuddly baby ever. I just want to squeeze him, and love him, and stare at him all day long. He makes my heart melt. Even when he cries, he does it so cute! I've already been planning all the fun things we're going to do when he's a bit older. I'm trying to make it so I'm his favorite adopted Aunt. He gets baptized on Sunday and I have nothing to wear! Oh well, just another fabulous excuse to go shopping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't been working out like I should either. I know I've said it before, but the holidays make it so difficult to get in a proper workout. The gym closes early on Christmas eve and isn't open Christmas day, then we're busy over the weekend, so this week will be terrible. Everyone always wants to do things with family over the holidays. I think we should break tradition and visit everyone in January. Just a thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is like Thursday, but not. And tomorrow is like Friday, but not. Oh how I love short work weeks! The weekends seem like work too, but at least I can do things at home in my pajamas. I have an entire list of things I want to get done but most of it will probably have to wait.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-2181907545172146949?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/2181907545172146949/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/catching-up.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2181907545172146949'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/2181907545172146949'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/catching-up.html' title='Catching Up'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-5590654330342608735</id><published>2009-12-17T08:23:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-17T08:37:11.559-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My morning</title><content type='html'>Today started like any other day. I showered, ate breakfast, got ready for work, and headed out the door. Nothing crazy has happened, but I keep noticing the most random things. I was in the elevator waiting for everyone to get in when someone walked in with a McDonald's breakfast sandwich. I really cannot stand the site, or smell of them, so it wasn't an enjoyable ride for me. He was eating away when he looked at someone, held up his sandwich and said, 'Healthy breakfast'. The guy replied 'That smells so good, it's making me hungry'. I was about to gag! I don't know how he would have thought that smelled good! I was in the corner searching for non-contaminated air to breathe. I did not think the aroma coming from that sandwich was heavenly. To me, it smelled like a fart!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I usually get to the office before anyone on my team arrives so I get to listen to everyone come in and have their morning chats. Today I overheard two men talk about going to the gym. They discussed how much they weigh, how much they worked out, their eating habits, and how much they lost this week. They are now setting new goals because they just haven't lost enough yet. It was like listening to two women! I didn't know guys discussed their weight in such detail. I wanted to chime in and talk about my gym experiences and weightloss, but I didn't want them to know I was listening. I don't have a door and the walls to my cube don't extend to the ceiling, it's hard not to listen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made a phone call this morning to our office in England. I guess I never realized this before, but it's something that shouldn't have made me giggle. The person I called wasn't there, so I got her voicemail then a pre-recorded message from a lady about how to leave the message. The lady was British and I really enjoyed listening to her speak. I must call the UK more often.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-5590654330342608735?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/5590654330342608735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-morning.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5590654330342608735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5590654330342608735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-morning.html' title='My morning'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-4269402902474170104</id><published>2009-12-14T18:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-14T19:02:25.085-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Meetings, Meetings, and more meetings</title><content type='html'>My job revolves around endless meetings. If the meeting isn't too interesting, or something that doesn't pertain to me, I'll do other work on my computer and tune out for a bit. There's always someone who has to use their laptop to project the meeting agenda. As the meeting was about to begin, the computer someone was using to project wouldn't pick up wireless internet so she couldn't use it. I volunteered to project the agenda on my computer but it seemed easier if she did it so I loaned her my laptop. Wow, was that a bad idea. Before the meeting began, I was working away, not really paying attention to anyone, but the second I gave up my computer, the guy siting next to me put his feet on the table and leaned back in his chair to relax. I normally wouldn't mind, but he wasn't wearing shoes. For the rest of the meeting, I stared at his feet. I kept looking around the floor trying to find his shoes, but there weren't any. He was walking around the office in his socks. We don't have a dress code and I haven't read anything about shoes being mandatory but as a common courtesy to everyone else, maybe he should wear slippers.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-4269402902474170104?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/4269402902474170104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/meetings-meetings-and-more-meetings.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4269402902474170104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/4269402902474170104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/meetings-meetings-and-more-meetings.html' title='Meetings, Meetings, and more meetings'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-5206133670679712420</id><published>2009-12-14T08:32:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-14T08:55:50.171-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back on the wagon</title><content type='html'>It was a rough food weekend. There were yummy treats at every corner and bottles of wine galore! But I'm back and more dedicated than ever. I'm also back at day 1 with my mini goal of not falling asleep on the couch. Sometimes it's so hard! I was watching TV with Aaron and was so comfy and warm that my eyes got heavy and before you know it, three hours had passed. Today is a fresh start though. No more couch sleeping or apple pie!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My weekend was a bit boggled anyhow so it was hard to stay on track. On Friday, we had our company holiday party, so I didn't go to the restaurant to work. Then on Sunday, we had plumbing problems. It was so gross! The disposal in the kitchen sink wasn't doing it's job properly and decided to back up our pips. An entire bottle of draino didn't solve the problem either. We had chopped up food and some unidentified objects coming up our bathtub drains. The toilets wouldn't flush and we had a leak in our crawlspace. One phone call to the Roto Rooter later, and POOF! it was fixed. I ended up not going to the restaurant that night either. I was too busy cleaning the bathrooms and watching out for exploding pipes. Luckily, nothing too disgusting happened. I love having time off, but I would have much prefered to be working than cleaning old food and other things out of my bathtubs.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-5206133670679712420?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/5206133670679712420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/back-on-wagon.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5206133670679712420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5206133670679712420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/back-on-wagon.html' title='Back on the wagon'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-7711129573370766464</id><published>2009-12-13T10:32:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-13T10:54:33.397-08:00</updated><title type='text'>What a weekend!</title><content type='html'>Wow! What a day! Yesterday, we had our family over for gift opening and Christmas dinner. After that, we were hosting a holiday party for our friends. My day started at 7am staring at the ceiling wishing I could sleep longer, but of course, my internal clock had another agenda. I immediately began cooking and preparing our house for guests. I took a short break because I had a date with the gym. After this week, I finally realized why people always begin diets and workout regimens after the holidays. There's simply no time to go to the gym between holiday parties and family events. I really wanted to go workout today, but I'm still recovering from my marathon of cooking. I also need to clean my kitchen sometime today. It looks like my refrigerator threw up. Now I must go make things sparkle once again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-7711129573370766464?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/7711129573370766464/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/what-weekend.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7711129573370766464'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/7711129573370766464'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/what-weekend.html' title='What a weekend!'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-5493262973008580519</id><published>2009-12-09T10:19:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-09T10:58:04.655-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My lovely Tuesday</title><content type='html'>Tuesdays are work nights for me. I take the long trek to Monticello to wait tables for a few hours, then come home exhausted from my long day. Last night was different though. I was tired when I got home, but not from being busy, but from sheer boredom. There must have been some kind of memo that was sent out telling people to stay inside and not come out to eat. Wait, there is such a memo, it's the weather channel. This constant streaming of bad news makes even the bravest person afraid of tornadoes, blizzards, freezing rain, or just rain for that matter. No one wanted to risk their lives to eat out, so they risked the delivery drivers instead. That's right, business was booming for the driver but for the poor little waitress, NADA! I ended up sitting on a tiny chair watching The Biggest Loser on the worlds smallest TV. Don't get me wrong, I love watching The Biggest Loser, I secretly want to be a contestant on the show, but I'll get to that point momentarily. I would have much preferred to be sitting at home watching it, not the restaurant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now to my secret desire to be on The Biggest Loser. I think I would rock at this show! Not by losing weight, but by winning all the challenges! One season, they had to walk up a giant hill as many times as they could in a 12 hour time period. I think Caitlin and I could have won this one hands down. We can walk for hours and not realize how far we've gone because we've chatted the entire time. As long as I have interesting conversation, I could go on forever. Then there was a competition for guessing how many calories were in a variety of different foods. My answers were closer than any of the other contestants, which means, I would have won that one too! I would love winning all the challenges, but maybe in the end, I just want to have Bob as a trainer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-5493262973008580519?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/5493262973008580519/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-lovely-tuesday.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5493262973008580519'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/5493262973008580519'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-lovely-tuesday.html' title='My lovely Tuesday'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-6506569815108917768</id><published>2009-12-08T08:09:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-08T08:44:09.272-08:00</updated><title type='text'>First official workout</title><content type='html'>Last night, Caitlin and I hit the gym. We're considering it our first workout even though we did go over the weekend and a little last week too. I always read different articles on fitness and nutrition but mostly it's all the same information. One article in particular stood out to me. It discussed what day of the week to start a diet and fitness routine. They made a compelling argument about starting your diet in the middle of the week instead of on a Monday, which is a common day to begin. Starting in mid-week would allow for less failure since most people are tired on Mondays and don't feel like going to the gym or eating right because they are just getting back into the groove of the work week. I took this into consideration when beginning my new workout routine, but for some reason, Mondays represent a clean start and the old favorite won. We did 50 minutes of cardio instead of the planned hour because the gym closes at 8:30 and I don't think they would have held it open for us. I don't feel too sore today but I definitely tight when I sit for too long. I feel like I can get a firm grasp on the workout and do really well, but my eating has got to get better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I say my eating has to get better it means I need to stop eating so many delicious treats. Oh friendship bread.....how do I love thee? This delicious bread that takes forever to create is a sweet tooths dream! It's moist with a touch of cinnamon and sugary goodness. It's like cake, but not, it's like bread, but too good to be normal bread. Caitlin said it best when she described it as crack for a bread lover. Aarons stepdad keeps making it and sending it home to us. If he didn't make it, I wouldn't eat it. I don't have the patience, or memory for that matter, to add ingredients and stir bread dough for 10 days. I do appreciate the Amish for this wonderful creation. My wasteline on the other hand, does not.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-6506569815108917768?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/6506569815108917768/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/first-official-workout.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6506569815108917768'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/6506569815108917768'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/first-official-workout.html' title='First official workout'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669899654862473322.post-3704013510398057735</id><published>2009-12-07T12:43:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-07T13:07:53.130-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Goals'/><title type='text'>My first blog post</title><content type='html'>This is a first for me. I'm learning the inner workings of Google, and who knew, a free blog for everyone to see. Reading other peoples blogs has been inspiring but never thought I'd be able to do it myself. First, I didn't know how, and second, what did I have to write about. After thinking this through in a very boring meeting this afternoon, I came up with tons of things I could blog about. Have you ever seen the movie Julie and Julia where Julie cooks her way through Julia Childs entire cookbook? Well, I haven't but the concept seemed simple, cook everything in the book and write about it.  I'd get a much smaller one of course but a cookbook nonetheless.  That will be something to blog about, once I decide on a time to start this project and a cookbook worth my effort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also have a bunch of mini goals that I've set for myself. Oh how I love a mini goal! It take 21 days to form a habit so I'm hoping the mini goals are successful and stick for good. I've begun working out again. My poor butt cheeks are really feeling it too. Mini goal number 1: Workout 4 times a week, 2 days doing an hour of cardio and the other 2 days of weight training and cardio. I'm going to run another 5K in May so I have to get in shape.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On to mini goal number 2. I keep falling asleep on the couch and I really need to stop! I wake up at 2am still needing to brush my teeth and wash my face, but after I do that, I can't fall back asleep right away. Then a bad nights sleep leads to an even worse day at the office. I don't think anyone would approve of naptime under my desk.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess for now, I'm going to keep track of my first 2 goals here and see where it goes. Once those are accomplished, I'll throw in a few more. Baby steps would probably be best.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/669899654862473322-3704013510398057735?l=elizabethroyse.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/feeds/3704013510398057735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-first-blog-post.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3704013510398057735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/669899654862473322/posts/default/3704013510398057735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://elizabethroyse.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-first-blog-post.html' title='My first blog post'/><author><name>Elizabeth</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/07476619228011144954</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='25' src='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_QvYL39ujIT0/S_bXyeFAOgI/AAAAAAAADXQ/p8gbGgupkXI/S220/me+with+fake+bouquet.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
