tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35660331834611436172024-02-07T01:07:06.671-08:00Karen Conner Livin'Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.comBlogger15125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-81949855509457880012011-01-08T14:52:00.000-08:002011-01-10T15:20:20.094-08:00TEEN IDOLS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpCdTbdSyQISI_Ta7JBmCPKgm4dhbFmlohxnIZJ4OciJbdtFUk8O0vUmdlj7N1iCOEqMoQD_ZtBCc246aFjEaKFUcyBNgkjGRw7X3n1GC9kKPRvUPuadzqqJ9r6ldTO6rDbFEE_1mHfYo/s1600/20101022-tows-tiger-beat-7-600x411.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpCdTbdSyQISI_Ta7JBmCPKgm4dhbFmlohxnIZJ4OciJbdtFUk8O0vUmdlj7N1iCOEqMoQD_ZtBCc246aFjEaKFUcyBNgkjGRw7X3n1GC9kKPRvUPuadzqqJ9r6ldTO6rDbFEE_1mHfYo/s320/20101022-tows-tiger-beat-7-600x411.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="color: magenta;">TEEN HEARTTHROBS! </span> Every generation has them. In the late 1970s, teen heartthrob Shaun Cassidy's syrupy sweet love songs, feathered hair and tight satin pants made millions of girls' hearts stand still...but not mine. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Unlike my friends, I wasn't attracted to the typical teen idol. I marched to the beat of a different drummer...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">that drummer was tripping on acid.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">My first crush at age nine was on an actor named Pete Duel. He wasn't a teen and he wasn't much of an idol. It was impossible to find pictures of him in magazines like Tiger Beat. I'm not sure why I liked him...I didn't care much for his television series, Alias Smith and Jones. Maybe it was those cute dimples Pete Duel had when he smiled. I spent hours on end squeezing my face and poking my cheeks with a pencil so Pete Duel and I could have matching dimples. What little girl doesn't want to look like a thirty year old man?<br />
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One night shit got real. Pete Duel was drinking heavily and he shot and killed himself. That made him even more attractive to me. I always had a thing for unavailable men.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pete Duel... R.I.P. you sexy thing!</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</tbody></table>I imagined my future life with Pete Duel. We'd have six boys and live out in the country on a farm. It would be <i>right</i> <i>on</i>, man! Never mind that Pete Duel was dead, (a minor detail).<br />
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After a while, having a lifeless corpse as a teen idol lost its luster. At age 11, I fell head over heels in love with the sensitive, wire-rimmed granny glasses wearing, singer/songwriter, John Denver. He was talented, cute and had blood flowing through his veins. (That's good enough for this Rocky Mountain mama.)<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This outdoorsy, nature-loving poet made my heart go pitter pat.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of the many portraits I drew of JD! August 1976</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This portrait is FAR OUT!</td></tr>
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<div style="color: lime; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">FAVORITE SONGS:</div><br />
<div style="color: #ffd966; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Sunshine on my Shoulders</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">The Eagle and the Hawk</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: magenta; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Looking for Space</div><div style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #b4a7d6; font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Rocky Mountain High</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i70.photobucket.com/albums/i88/sasha_is_cool/Music/PeterFrampton.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i70.photobucket.com/albums/i88/sasha_is_cool/Music/PeterFrampton.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Tight pants and unbuttoned shirts eventually won me over and drew me away from John Denver. At age 14, my brief crush on sexy rock star Peter Frampton was over as soon as it began.<br />
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My teen idol phase had finally come to an end.....<i><b>or had </b><b>it???... </b></i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This New Moon guy is such a FOX! (uh...I mean wolf)</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-30900266479300243172010-12-18T06:05:00.000-08:002011-01-05T13:31:17.590-08:00Celebrity Couples<div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;">I often wish I was part of a hot celebrity couple...Brad and Angelina (Brangelina), Tom and Katie (TomKat), Kathie Lee and Hoda. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i440.photobucket.com/albums/qq130/JRK09/BrAngelina.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i440.photobucket.com/albums/qq130/JRK09/BrAngelina.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: magenta;"><br />
</div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;"> These power couples are wealthy, famous and SO in love!</span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;">Don't we all love seeing pictures of them frolicking on remote, exclusive beaches and hearing their clever and witty back and forth banter? </span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><br />
</div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;"> Kathy Lee refers to herself as "KLG" and her partner as "Hoda Woman". Hoda Woman lovingly and willingly allows herself to become a human target for KLG's insults and put downs. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Makes me wonder...Where's <i>my</i> Hoda Man?</span></td></tr>
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</span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;">The other day I watched an interview Oprah did with Lisa Marie Presley. Lisa Marie spoke at length about her marriage to Michael Jackson. She described being with him as <b>intoxicating</b>. Just being in his presence gave her a <b>high</b> like she had never felt before with anyone, except when her Dad was alive. </span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i404.photobucket.com/albums/pp126/TotalDarkness12/Michael%20Jackson/kissingthroughamask.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i404.photobucket.com/albums/pp126/TotalDarkness12/Michael%20Jackson/kissingthroughamask.gif" /></a></div><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;">When Lisa Marie's marriage to Michael broke up due to his drug use, who was waiting in the wings? None other than Debbie Rowe. In her signature wolf tee shirt, she was ready and willing to birth MJ's children. </span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I need a male Debbie Rowe who loves me enough to give me his first born children!</td></tr>
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</span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;">Then I think...who am I to complain? My man and I have been together longer than most celebrity couples. </span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><br />
</div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;">True, he finds inanimate objects such as the TV, his phone and the computer infinitely more captivating than me. </span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><br />
</div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;">Being in his presence puts me on a high...when he repeatedly pushes my buttons, it causes my heart rate to instantly accelerate and my blood pressure to rise. </span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><br />
</div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;">All he has to do is mention his favorite subject: sports, and I begin to yawn and nod off.</span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;">Yes, the more I think of it, being with him is <i>intoxicating</i>. He's on the computer/watching TV and I am <b><i>passed out</i></b> on the couch by 9:00 p.m.. He is like a drug for me. It's the equivalent of massive dose of Propofol every evening.</span></div><div style="color: magenta;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sweet Dreams</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KAREN AND MIKE= <i>KARMIKE</i> <b>SOUTH COUNTY'S NEW "IT" COUPLE</b></td></tr>
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</span></div>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-75954924552608184342010-12-05T05:58:00.000-08:002010-12-07T04:32:51.017-08:00WHAT PERSONALITY TYPE ARE YOU?<div style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Have you ever wondered why you do some of the things you do? </span><span style="font-size: x-large;">Learning about your personality type will <b>change your life</b>! </span></span></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g136/Cervantes_4/untitled1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i55.photobucket.com/albums/g136/Cervantes_4/untitled1.jpg" /></a></div><div style="color: #6fa8dc;"><span style="font-size: large;"> I used to wonder why I felt different. Why couldn't I just "get it together?" Finally I have something to blame it all on. My rare but wonderful personality type. </span><br />
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</div><div style="color: #6fa8dc;"></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;">EXTROVERT or <b>INTROVERT</b>? E or <b>I</b></span><br />
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</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;">E. Does it energize you to be with people? If so, like 80% of the population, you are an extrovert.</span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I</b>: Does it drain the life out of you to be around people?</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> Would you rather have a root canal? <i style="color: #cfe2f3;">(Oops, not a good analogy because one would still have to be around people.)</i></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> Do you need time alone to recharge? </span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i529.photobucket.com/albums/dd335/tornapart20/alone-wallpaper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="314" src="http://i529.photobucket.com/albums/dd335/tornapart20/alone-wallpaper.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />
</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">If so, like me, you are an introvert. I'm introspective and I like being alone. Good times!</span></span><br />
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</span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;">SENSING or <b>INTUITIVE</b>? S or <b>N</b>?</span><br />
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</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;">S: Do you like facts, details, and do you notice what's going on in the moment? Are you practical? If the answer is yes, you, like 80% of the population are a SENSING TYPE (S). </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">OR:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;">N: Or are you a big picture kind of person? Do you like to imagine future possibilities and theorize? Are you a dreamer? If so, you are an INTUITIVE TYPE (N) like me!</span><br />
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</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Here's a hypothetical example that may or may not have happened in my childhood, age 7: </span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Let's just say there were some boys my age, in my neighborhood that were repeatedly setting themselves on fire and rolling down the hill in their yard. I would rather sit back and theorize <i style="color: #6fa8dc;">why</i> they might be doing that than to actually get out there and help them fight the fire they started on themselves. </span></span><br />
<a href="http://i143.photobucket.com/albums/r160/christalgurl/stopdroproll.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i143.photobucket.com/albums/r160/christalgurl/stopdroproll.jpg" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> </span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"><b style="color: #6fa8dc;">My theory</b>: <i>They were practicing</i> <i>STOP, DROP and ROLL, enjoying the moment, and probably didn't want my help, anyway.</i></span></span><br />
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</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">Being an INTUITIVE TYPE, and seeing big picture possibilities, I sometimes don't notice details. For example, I probably won't remember what kind of car you drive. </span></span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://i123.photobucket.com/albums/o317/walshd182/cat.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://i123.photobucket.com/albums/o317/walshd182/cat.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> I also wouldn't likely notice if you are wearing a live cat on top of your head for a hat or if you are lying on the side of the road in need of help. </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I have too many wonderful and terrible things to think about in my imagination to notice <i>small</i> details like that. </span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>FEELING</b> OR THINKING? <b>F</b> or T?</span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;">FEELING TYPES base decisions on feelings. (60% of women are feeling types.) </span><br />
<br />
</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;">THINKING TYPES (T) base decisions on logic. (60% of men are dead inside. I mean, <i>Thinking Types</i>.) </span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;">I used to live with a thinking type. He was an ES<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">T</span>J, my opposite. His passion was hunting. Coincidentally, my passion was hunting too....(Hunting for Kleenex, then curling up into a fetal position and sobbing.)</span></span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> </span></span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #cfe2f3;"> <b>Feeling</b> (<b>F</b>) = F My Life (FML).</span></span><br />
<br />
</div><span style="font-size: large;"><br style="color: #9fc5e8;" /></span><br />
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>PERCEPTION</b> OR JUDGING. P or J</span><br />
<br />
</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"> JUDGING TYPES (J): These folks are orderly, decisive, punctual, disciplined. They love schedules, finish projects and do the "shoulds."</span><br />
<br />
</div><span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">PERCEIVING TYPES (P) like to see all the possibilities before making decisions. They are open minded, spontaneous, easy going and capable of handling many projects at once. They go with the flow. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #cfe2f3;"><span style="font-size: large;">As a Perceptive type, I have had wonderful experiences when being spontaneous. </span></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <b><i style="color: magenta;">On the other hand</i></b><span style="color: magenta;">,</span> <span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="color: magenta;">a failure to plan has burned me a few times.</span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">Leaving things unfinished has plagued me.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="color: magenta;">On the other hand, I always have fun projects to go back to! <span style="font-size: small;">If only</span> <span style="font-size: small;">I could find them...</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: #9fc5e8;">I'm not much of a fan of doing the "shoulds." </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><i style="color: magenta;">On the other hand</i></b><span style="color: magenta;">, </span><span style="color: #3d85c6;">it's kind of nice doing things because I </span><i style="color: magenta;">want</i><span style="color: #3d85c6;"> to, not because I </span><i style="color: magenta;">have </i><span style="color: #3d85c6;">to. (Comes from the heart.)</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> <span style="color: #9fc5e8;">I wish I was more decisive.</span> </span><br />
<div style="color: magenta;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b><i>Then again, maybe not, I can't decide</i></b><i><b>.....</b></i> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My ability to see possibilities makes me more creative and understanding.</span></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i391.photobucket.com/albums/oo353/_-KennedY-_/rainbow-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://i391.photobucket.com/albums/oo353/_-KennedY-_/rainbow-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;">I am an I N F P (a rare one percent of the population).</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Introvert (I) Intuitive (N) Feeling (F) Perceptive (P)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;">Let's see....<b>introspective</b>,</span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>theory</b>/not facts,<b> </b></span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>feelings</b>/not logic</span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><span style="font-size: large;">and <b>chaos</b>/not order.</span></div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><br />
</div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"><a href="http://i183.photobucket.com/albums/x114/PeachesBaby1957/Sparklies-3/FlyingDOVEani.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="110" src="http://i183.photobucket.com/albums/x114/PeachesBaby1957/Sparklies-3/FlyingDOVEani.gif" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;">Okay so I'm not very worldly. <i>On the other hand</i>, what I do have is one hell of an imagination and a lot of glitter and sparkly stuff. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="color: magenta;">Oh yeah.... and I can fly.</span> </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">(At night when I'm dreaming.)</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span></div>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-91994722386666823402010-11-25T19:11:00.000-08:002010-12-06T05:02:02.646-08:00SURPRISE!!!!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL91mvd8auR1pSr5CIUs25dKBLYpLy6frqhwu3IEXllzybGcUhkh0FqHwpw3IVYgQ4AFSeAlbN4dnL5GGAJJXAdX0oNi-0wed1C4UovFQOU7RpyBvN76Hf5FMdn0HjhekMbndyvpn4dXE/s1600/031.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL91mvd8auR1pSr5CIUs25dKBLYpLy6frqhwu3IEXllzybGcUhkh0FqHwpw3IVYgQ4AFSeAlbN4dnL5GGAJJXAdX0oNi-0wed1C4UovFQOU7RpyBvN76Hf5FMdn0HjhekMbndyvpn4dXE/s400/031.JPG" width="308" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">What kid wants candles on a watermelon?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">My daughter recently told me that there was nothing I could do that would surprise her. </span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: large;">NOTHING??? </span></b></div><br />
<ul style="color: magenta;"><li><span style="font-size: large;">What if I left to do a Walkabout with the Aborigines? </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Became a groupie following Justin Bieber, Mylie Cyrus or Barry Manilow? </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Ran for Senate?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Changed my name to Rolf?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Trained for a marathon and ate healthily?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Started skydiving, extreme motocross or cockfighting?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Joined the Merchant Marine?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Paid a homeless man to pose as a wealthy tycoon named Rex Sterling. Then had "Sexy Rexy" con and seduce my arch enemy? </span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Began watching popular stuff like: the Bachelor, Cougar Town or Sports?</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Embarked on a career as any of the following: policewoman, monster truck driver, baby seal hunter, contractor, </span><span style="font-size: large;">slaughterhouse employee, bus, truck or cab driver, manager, pilot, mathematician, CEO, surgeon, accountant, engineer, the list goes on and on...</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Underwent plastic surgery to change my identity and look like David Hasselhoff.</span></li>
</ul><div style="color: yellow; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">Nope, I tried it all, and she's still not shocked by anything I do. </span></div><div style="color: yellow; text-align: center;"></div><div style="color: yellow; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">I wonder how she will feel when I tell her I found her in a dumpster at my prom? </span></div>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-21410496878207144452010-11-10T12:42:00.000-08:002010-11-12T06:36:07.774-08:00A Mother's Love<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiikbNrinttopyilIYznfJNm0AHFhPdCGMPxp6-2FNMpaBZUnoOLlxVoymWs9OoK1hJsaq5k7zGCSzOGy0qeLvtNMUHdrJryB8o_g9LmxMuZEBT3KA7-6WiYis4IAjsCGwYbF-apDNq5UY/s1600/056.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiikbNrinttopyilIYznfJNm0AHFhPdCGMPxp6-2FNMpaBZUnoOLlxVoymWs9OoK1hJsaq5k7zGCSzOGy0qeLvtNMUHdrJryB8o_g9LmxMuZEBT3KA7-6WiYis4IAjsCGwYbF-apDNq5UY/s320/056.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom with Me </td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #9fc5e8;">My Mother has been gone for many years now, but I still miss her. Not a day goes by that I don't think of my Mom. No one loves so unconditionally as a Mother does. Countless times over the years, I have wished I could pick up the phone and call my Mom just to talk or to get advice on simple how-tos. </span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0UAxCfYM0-k2YaVIOnygItfoC66uvIXC8HUHsA7wisSFmwbJKPbMMe3k-yPvYwnxSHeXTywbx7hLMhRlXzDntuCHjOIxlBxlFPT19R3g4-Z62XyRxd5k9Tf_h3xZ8x8R92q5n9Dr8Qc/s1600/055.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiy0UAxCfYM0-k2YaVIOnygItfoC66uvIXC8HUHsA7wisSFmwbJKPbMMe3k-yPvYwnxSHeXTywbx7hLMhRlXzDntuCHjOIxlBxlFPT19R3g4-Z62XyRxd5k9Tf_h3xZ8x8R92q5n9Dr8Qc/s200/055.JPG" width="130" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mom Holding Me</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<div style="color: #9fc5e8;">Well, guess what? Finally, after all these years I have found a new Mom! Sure, she's not as loving and pretty as my real Mom was. My new Mom is saucy, sassy and somewhat shocking. Not only does she help me, but she helps millions of other souls out there. She's quite a giver, you see. You might have heard of her. Her name is: The Internet, aka The World Wide Web...but I call her...Mom. </div><div style="color: #9fc5e8;"> </div><div style="color: #8e7cc3;">Wanna know how get a stain out? My Mom, The Internet knows. Have a question about the proper way to sew on a button? My new Mom has all the answers. Need a recipe for making a white sauce? She'll show you a million different ways to do it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i style="color: #fff2cc;">Y</i><span style="color: #fff2cc;">ou may ask:</span></div><br />
<span style="color: #ead1dc;"><i>Do my new Mom and I have fun together?</i> You better believe it! We can go shopping together right in the comfort of my own home! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;"><i>Can I show up anytime and lounge around on her couch?</i> No, but I can lounge around on my own couch and talk to her all I want. "Hi Mom! Time to watch Oprah together!" </span><br />
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtB-IWfjPbFZYfC_1eRnuKggfKOvjZ6DzCtrnLrngCFNhAXPBn6P0ehQoAn-D-DSqW-ktMRY_WXeWelfkZe5iUMZG0ziKItLc-O15oyTAKtL2Ob59dz38FrIVifbAncvJwjXoPfL2w5zs/s1600/049.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtB-IWfjPbFZYfC_1eRnuKggfKOvjZ6DzCtrnLrngCFNhAXPBn6P0ehQoAn-D-DSqW-ktMRY_WXeWelfkZe5iUMZG0ziKItLc-O15oyTAKtL2Ob59dz38FrIVifbAncvJwjXoPfL2w5zs/s320/049.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bailey sitting on his Grandma's lap.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><i><span style="color: blue;">Can I eat food out of her fridge?</span></i> <span style="color: blue;">No. But Mom will help me order food. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: orange;"><i>Can we go out for coffee together? </i> Yes!!! Starbucks it is, Mom! We can even go to lunch at Panera! </span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: yellow;"><i>Will she take my kid to school or babysit?</i> No? I don't have a small child, so who cares.</span> <span style="color: yellow;">Anyway, she spends lots of time with my adult daughter and her Grand dog.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #e06666;"><i>Will she be there for me anytime?</i> Well, yeah, unless the power goes out. Indeed, what human could ever be there for someone 24/7? This Mom won't be around if I become destitute and homeless, which is perfectly understandable. Why should that sweet lady have to endure the embarrassment of being around a kid who is that much of a loser?</div><br />
<span style="color: #f4cccc;"><i>Will she worry about me and give me advice?</i> Mom's not much of a worrier, but she's got advice out the wazoo if I ask.</span> <br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b4a7d6;"><i>Does my new Mom remember my birthday?</i> Yes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #8e7cc3;"><i>How about the events on the day of my birth?</i> Not the details, and anyway who wants that? My real Mom almost died having me. </span><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #674ea7;"><i>Does my new Mom remember all my childhood antics?</i> No. But she remembers all my recent antics forever somewhere in her sweet, loving hard drive.<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja79VJ2XWImoWIydgy9f73TRe0pArbLucftSW4_oJ1iJBnkeS0er9-Q4L8MbDGViFIFrgQcUBDO4icq5qNFjOPEXo4zb_Zoh6woRDDH_4V_ysAybQY0LnoNedFnVfLbcuzrO1iKjW58A8/s1600/051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja79VJ2XWImoWIydgy9f73TRe0pArbLucftSW4_oJ1iJBnkeS0er9-Q4L8MbDGViFIFrgQcUBDO4icq5qNFjOPEXo4zb_Zoh6woRDDH_4V_ysAybQY0LnoNedFnVfLbcuzrO1iKjW58A8/s320/051.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grandma loves her little Grand dog!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<br />
<div style="color: #6fa8dc;"><i>(Oh yeah....and Al Gore claims to have invented my Mom ) </i></div></div>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-6279419975304894412010-11-04T13:36:00.000-07:002010-12-06T04:58:52.980-08:00RIP OFF!<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://static.thehollywoodgossip.com/images/gallery/shannen-doherty-biography_409x514.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://static.thehollywoodgossip.com/images/gallery/shannen-doherty-biography_409x514.jpg" width="254" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Hey beeotch, I think it's "Karen Conner BAD ASS!!!"</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I can't believe Shannen Doherty stole the title <b><i>I</i></b> was going to use for <b><i>my</i></b> memoirs....for <i>her</i> new book,<u> </u>"Bad Ass."</div><br />
I'm way more bad ass than that little title thief. Here are some examples of my bad girl ways: <br />
<br />
1. I have a long standing fine of $3.55 at the library.<br />
<br />
2. When my husband goes in to buy me a coffee, I say to him...."Don't come back unless it's a large iced Hazelnut, extra, extra light with cream and sugar just like I ordered it." (<i>I don't even want to see your face until then.</i>)<br />
<br />
3. If you mess with me I might complain to a close family member about what you've done. I might even go <i>so far</i> as to send a disapproving glance your way....when you're not looking.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><b>Come on, this is way more bad ass than being mean to people on the set of 90210!!!</b> </div><br />
This title thievery is an abomination! It isn't the first time it has happened to me either. It happened back in '07 when Donald Trump stole my idea with his book, "Think Big and Kick Ass." That's been my mantra for years! I'm gonna give these thieves a piece of my mind...probably not though.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://100milebike.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/Cycling-Book.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://100milebike.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/01/Cycling-Book.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wouldn't you rather read, "THINK BIG AND KICK ASS...In Dog Cuddling and Life?"</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-33566643537070320882010-10-31T05:20:00.000-07:002010-10-31T10:49:28.580-07:00GoOD IdEa GoNE BaDHave you ever thought it would be a good idea to dress up as a ghost, hide in a small room and wait for someone to come in so you could scare her.......<br />
<br />
~<span style="color: red;">THEN</span>~ <br />
<br />
....that person's <span style="color: #990000; font-size: large;">bloodcurdling</span> scream laced with obscenities scared <b><i>you</i></b> so bad that you <span style="font-size: small;"><i>kind of</i> </span>wet your pants?<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQG3S6kwpZ-njovjduYvf1a9i7sfVtpavkQvM3ocT8ZFfEp9R2R3JK7x8-YIW2Rd0kI65RYUf_oqJzzJO7PAXDMQltiqfLg4GCtK2uzEkliazpnEDYLG3PEg0haQ3yKpKC7hrreu1Xoog/s320/ghost+2010.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr style="color: orange;"><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>Scariest Moment of Your Life</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQG3S6kwpZ-njovjduYvf1a9i7sfVtpavkQvM3ocT8ZFfEp9R2R3JK7x8-YIW2Rd0kI65RYUf_oqJzzJO7PAXDMQltiqfLg4GCtK2uzEkliazpnEDYLG3PEg0haQ3yKpKC7hrreu1Xoog/s1600/ghost+2010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div>Yeah...um....neither have I. I was just askin'.Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-74107580094178154632010-10-20T06:19:00.000-07:002010-10-20T14:08:07.187-07:00Do You Ever Wish You Had a Clone?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWpwAbXQ7zp7T4nZs8pRL2Sg36cC0gc0omHyMpE7F2fxYgrSWEKwyC_B0nURioKgJWaTJ2T1Sl1eTpYwgRqzxFeOPlnwMKPtLTtL4kpgoduY7QLOnKU9QDVpwP9BOZpGnzSNzhiDCAnQ/s1600/hawaiian+luau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><br />
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</div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaw_wIYYietU1wI1E042jIuUpI3RjVTHWC4_VRNbX8Crm9OvcCgfHUuye82tPYCA9NdzpeGxXlaGkfEn7JMJxKgkxOtcNTnve8gvk71vMiRuVVN6haGgLT5yMGrsaFJ3y-HNSOBinlCmc/s1600/hawaiian+luau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaw_wIYYietU1wI1E042jIuUpI3RjVTHWC4_VRNbX8Crm9OvcCgfHUuye82tPYCA9NdzpeGxXlaGkfEn7JMJxKgkxOtcNTnve8gvk71vMiRuVVN6haGgLT5yMGrsaFJ3y-HNSOBinlCmc/s200/hawaiian+luau.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWpwAbXQ7zp7T4nZs8pRL2Sg36cC0gc0omHyMpE7F2fxYgrSWEKwyC_B0nURioKgJWaTJ2T1Sl1eTpYwgRqzxFeOPlnwMKPtLTtL4kpgoduY7QLOnKU9QDVpwP9BOZpGnzSNzhiDCAnQ/s1600/hawaiian+luau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="112" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxWpwAbXQ7zp7T4nZs8pRL2Sg36cC0gc0omHyMpE7F2fxYgrSWEKwyC_B0nURioKgJWaTJ2T1Sl1eTpYwgRqzxFeOPlnwMKPtLTtL4kpgoduY7QLOnKU9QDVpwP9BOZpGnzSNzhiDCAnQ/s200/hawaiian+luau.jpg" width="200" /></a><br />
Sometimes (especially when I'm really busy) I wish I had a clone. The possibilities are endless. My clone could be getting her hair done while I'm at the bank. Or while I'm scrubbing toilets she could be at Foxwoods gambling. When I'm at the grocery store, my clone could be cozily curled up on the couch in a fetal position, crying with a self-help book in her hand. Maybe she'd want to cuddle my dog Bailey while I argue with my husband. <br />
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I wonder if my clone and I would argue much. We'd likely argue over which one of us is more special or fancier than the other.<br />
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It would be painful to watch her make the same mistakes I make or see her eating chips and Halloween candy for breakfast and lunch every day.<br />
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A lot to ponder....I was thinking about all this while driving to the grocery store this morning. Then, being distracted (deep in thought) I kind of almost hit someone. My clone could have alerted me if we were together. No, she'd probably be at home doing something <b><i>really</i></b> exciting.Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-70648994529154787872010-10-19T06:59:00.000-07:002010-10-20T09:40:49.195-07:00Fall: A Time for Letting Go<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNht3ID5cuS5pOFHgw06MseU0XjrwDlx94wKRwWeJ4AuJZu0PleoeYPWJ_YmYgadA2AWWDMJIUn98iTytyUwHfzLAybbajhfMJN-zad5xmMn7r34i6NWAEZNgkw0O17IivAPvu5XTzruE/s1600/fall+leaves.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNht3ID5cuS5pOFHgw06MseU0XjrwDlx94wKRwWeJ4AuJZu0PleoeYPWJ_YmYgadA2AWWDMJIUn98iTytyUwHfzLAybbajhfMJN-zad5xmMn7r34i6NWAEZNgkw0O17IivAPvu5XTzruE/s320/fall+leaves.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Autumn has always been my favorite time of year. There are some, however, that struggle with Autumn because it is a reminder that Winter is near. Sadness comes over them when they see the falling leaves. Actually Autumn is a journey toward life The dead leaves are transformed by Winter snows and Spring rains into rich material for new growth. The earth waits in this process of growth for the unknown and the unseen beauty of another season. New growth of Spring cannot happen until Autumn lets go of what has been. The same is true in our lives. We cannot grow without change. The falling leaves are subtle reminders that we are asked to let go of many things in our lives. It is a time for us to let go of whatever keeps us from growing. <br />
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Fall's changing weather may prompt you to make changes....cashing in spare change, changing batteries in smoke detectors, undergoing a sex change operation.<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">You may need to to let go in other ways: </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Letting go of that husband with the wandering eye so that a hunky new man can come into your life.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i958.photobucket.com/albums/ae68/glo1281/Im%20a%20Believer/shirtless-jacob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="http://i958.photobucket.com/albums/ae68/glo1281/Im%20a%20Believer/shirtless-jacob.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Letting go of old outdated clothing styles you desperately cling to.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUur4WEVyXMQJEtHwZxZT4O8B0ws2CH90lqE-uQeOh3wBsipr-3qbC5-B2S9E-lwK4xnVJg_i5q1FYGfvmd642WbSK-0oyx_ICJSjyO__VZ8__aDcYDhcVRJpoC12MU1ptHk87KRiDAwo/s1600/missy's30th19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUur4WEVyXMQJEtHwZxZT4O8B0ws2CH90lqE-uQeOh3wBsipr-3qbC5-B2S9E-lwK4xnVJg_i5q1FYGfvmd642WbSK-0oyx_ICJSjyO__VZ8__aDcYDhcVRJpoC12MU1ptHk87KRiDAwo/s320/missy's30th19.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">For me it is as simple as letting go of an old resentment. Like maybe that time in second grade when Sister Amata came up from behind, grabbed me by the shoulders and shook the daylights out of me for no apparent reason. (That tiny ole battle ax was always yanking my chain.)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i236.photobucket.com/albums/ff278/sh3rr1_2007/dec%20into%20the%20new%20year/DEEP%20WITHIN%20AND%20MORE/Variety/my%20new%20faves/share%20some%20more/sisterchuckle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="http://i236.photobucket.com/albums/ff278/sh3rr1_2007/dec%20into%20the%20new%20year/DEEP%20WITHIN%20AND%20MORE/Variety/my%20new%20faves/share%20some%20more/sisterchuckle.jpg" width="296" /></a></div><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: orange;"><i>Autumn is a season of change and it reminds me that I am changing too. Help me throw off those things that hold me down. Help me understand I cannot live in summer forever. I am made to change and this season is part of it. Let me embrace this time of change, and become something new.</i></span></span></div>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-15238145601988391562010-10-17T07:40:00.000-07:002010-11-05T05:43:38.444-07:00Your Dog's Right to Choose<div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif22RCvvXxGftvUc1o4u8vps2SUvGQUt1yo-Uv5N-llmvrtCC7s3AXWcO-6B_OGkDPbtMm6w6ri29sh3XXh50QIxbg_Genv9_H4q5hET-qo1nVlHbdc5NoLYnl_OhSxFpFCS8tCZMQmiA/s1600/470.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif22RCvvXxGftvUc1o4u8vps2SUvGQUt1yo-Uv5N-llmvrtCC7s3AXWcO-6B_OGkDPbtMm6w6ri29sh3XXh50QIxbg_Genv9_H4q5hET-qo1nVlHbdc5NoLYnl_OhSxFpFCS8tCZMQmiA/s320/470.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div style="border: medium none; text-align: left;">I think it's nice to let your dog choose what Halloween costume he's going to wear. My dog has his very own Halloween box filled to the brim with fanciful costumes! He invariably pulls out his favorite, a plush yellow and black bumble bee costume with shiny silver wings. It just so happens to be the softest and most luxurious one of the bunch!</div><div style="border: medium none; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="border: medium none; text-align: center;">Bailey loves all the attention he gets when he's dolled up, and knows there will be a fun day ahead!</div><div style="border: medium none; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEito25PA61ZvK6Zy6loExTyK9KZCtmcZ3OJLMEYh29EeCgCBMXemA2OyR86bA_3b48PVRp0yhH8E3GN_ODS0ofIF22Iea6dSM3QVVNMjICqTid1-oStDQoYsMuV2ZqgTy90pOmYL1zOXrU/s1600/482.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEito25PA61ZvK6Zy6loExTyK9KZCtmcZ3OJLMEYh29EeCgCBMXemA2OyR86bA_3b48PVRp0yhH8E3GN_ODS0ofIF22Iea6dSM3QVVNMjICqTid1-oStDQoYsMuV2ZqgTy90pOmYL1zOXrU/s320/482.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>You can catch him buzzing up to the pumpkin patch to feast on hot dogs, fries and orange soda. After a photo shoot in front of some mums and pumpkins, he loves to pop his bumble bee head out the window on a Fall leaf-peeping drive.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1lg9fM-8QAAm_BefUCKSA7k0Ggrzy2za_H8dwO3kGFTyH9QrHi4mZos5pGQMiXaKM-9vWSwoQf2bVIIuxbwKwkf-uAzZwm6I6E0H5iy1NCmvmE9L4jwIqRST0WjklHFCAenfNBRvKE4/s1600/029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQ1Behzlriz14gKXAiAuf2959svuRALdEg58FQlxmkZcoiHhkG40H32z2EdAjYuJbne4UIbPoyCBuhqTpoZdVGw5B9a8aXNOwZRBXKlrlKwh0CXA9F4EdDitn4ilgqq6EWM-PofDsJwM/s1600/030.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCSbQNGJrft12uMEWRxqrqcqHNZ2NUJTngHnROHHvhh4QYYWOJNcK7uw-Aramcdy9YeETmvqJ2CU4zy7zDOJ_yAVPSwHaQm9p4MveQ6k58XaRFLO7oR03CxTpGHFw3y24ZJ_cHpjY0SfU/s320/248.JPG" style="cursor: move; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">My little <i>Howl</i>-oweener</span></td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: center;"><b>I let my dog make choices in other areas in his life as well...</b></div><br />
"Bailey, do you want to be quiet right now? No? You want to keep howling? OK! Howl all you want. It's good to let your emotions out. It's safe. This house is a cry friendly zone!"<br />
<div style="border: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border: medium none;">"Would you like to stop growling and biting? No? I know, it's fun to play and I want you to have a happy life. Oh, I see.....you're angry. My mistake. Well, it's good to get it out, not let it fester."</div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="249" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO1lg9fM-8QAAm_BefUCKSA7k0Ggrzy2za_H8dwO3kGFTyH9QrHi4mZos5pGQMiXaKM-9vWSwoQf2bVIIuxbwKwkf-uAzZwm6I6E0H5iy1NCmvmE9L4jwIqRST0WjklHFCAenfNBRvKE4/s320/029.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">Do you think you might want to get down from there?</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="border: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border: medium none;"><img border="0" height="248" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikQ1Behzlriz14gKXAiAuf2959svuRALdEg58FQlxmkZcoiHhkG40H32z2EdAjYuJbne4UIbPoyCBuhqTpoZdVGw5B9a8aXNOwZRBXKlrlKwh0CXA9F4EdDitn4ilgqq6EWM-PofDsJwM/s320/030.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></div></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="border: medium none; text-align: center;"><div style="border: medium none;"><span style="color: orange;">OK, I see you're choosing not to.</span></div></td></tr>
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</div><div style="border: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border: medium none; text-align: center;">Here's a question I often ask giving him two choices:</div><div style="border: medium none; text-align: center;">"Are you my friend...or are you my friend?"</div><div style="border: medium none; text-align: center;"><b>Silence</b>....</div><div style="border: medium none; text-align: center;">"Well, I guess you are my friend then!"</div><div class="" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="border: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"></div> <br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJmBxZW33PAOy_S7oP_X5c7P3MG9hUDMaDVexdP7EPQsyignIXyEEMb992FhYIQH8zXo7qtk-gdBBqgLnZ1PQMB2IbZNlQon8Jd8Pxokl1iJkxKjP5GJcKs5kzied8jX9lldQ_OOy_1k/s1600/553.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="292" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGJmBxZW33PAOy_S7oP_X5c7P3MG9hUDMaDVexdP7EPQsyignIXyEEMb992FhYIQH8zXo7qtk-gdBBqgLnZ1PQMB2IbZNlQon8Jd8Pxokl1iJkxKjP5GJcKs5kzied8jX9lldQ_OOy_1k/s320/553.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="color: orange;">Mon Ami</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-22608739483453176012010-10-15T07:59:00.000-07:002010-10-16T04:13:33.862-07:00MY X-TREME SPORTS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJlAct_BCF-RlUGl1jIFDNgRI2S0F3DyYg7qhmEZKD3ixB8X_6d2xCvvD44C6mt_c-eTcv3CyAGx1DeJmeuuBXVtfT1r54XNqR3ii8HtXBhTCj2-iEpTooyeNqZlWTbZUg3VEZV9_Brhc/s1600/004.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJlAct_BCF-RlUGl1jIFDNgRI2S0F3DyYg7qhmEZKD3ixB8X_6d2xCvvD44C6mt_c-eTcv3CyAGx1DeJmeuuBXVtfT1r54XNqR3ii8HtXBhTCj2-iEpTooyeNqZlWTbZUg3VEZV9_Brhc/s320/004.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>I am not into extreme sports (or any sports for that matter) unless you call <b>decorating</b> or <b>gardening</b> a sport. <b>In those cases I LOVE taking it to the X-TREME. I'm a high endurance athlete who loves living on the edge.</b><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i>An <b>X-treme sport</b> is a popular term for certain activities perceived as having a high level of inherent danger, and that are counter-cultural. These activities often involve speed, height, a high level of physical exertion, and highly specialized gear or spectacular stunts. A feature of such activities in the view of some is their alleged capacity to induce an adrenaline rush in participants. </i></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfABfmN4jMNvWsX7KdIapEhfrKmQ7uvvPJfaAtaoYEi3Sm07xDBQnnFDQO5kgfbPDd5Hp0A8FprWJTEpg8CIGgaG1lvvOWnJKuHDI4mZqOSaKAjUf1-OGZnYO1KWwcAAhWkxmwdUf00A/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsfABfmN4jMNvWsX7KdIapEhfrKmQ7uvvPJfaAtaoYEi3Sm07xDBQnnFDQO5kgfbPDd5Hp0A8FprWJTEpg8CIGgaG1lvvOWnJKuHDI4mZqOSaKAjUf1-OGZnYO1KWwcAAhWkxmwdUf00A/s320/012.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: large;"><b>I'm out there in my gardening gloves, slammin' some Mountain Dew, free styling past the yellow jacket nest in the flower garden. Next I'm in a helmet, repelling off the side of my house, tying a bat, a ghost and some cobwebs off the highest corners.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWPFw-EF3wpUli_ySPNS9i1sq2yr8iVU1ajt_60HHD5lhb1St_aEJXfGusnbLKYp5RgzEHpUMWclJGtPKYpwx2FO0QDuVo7tNRu02uuwARFsgyrAMz4IrHWjEkLZL6oxl5r_eNPh_DAM/s320/005.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My X-treme Sports Combined </td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="text-align: right;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1MQmJKwUNBoEfRrkYpBfYyiPeF_Nl2dVD-1mw0vgk64Dic6LL9ek2MeGUzD591K17R5xwVKdLk4zgiZdGJlazfieLo4urWaow3R_BG-HFeT68xBRoxRNjkLwCAB5WHU4nMq6MRg_gCXo/s1600/012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>I have been decorating since late September. Hope my endurance<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>holds out until Halloween. I'm up for the challenge, though.<br />
<sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-Websters_0-1"><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Extreme_sport#cite_note-Websters-0"></a></sup>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-47865484350807681862010-10-14T12:14:00.000-07:002010-10-15T16:04:35.139-07:00HALLOWEEN DECORATING / Creepy Cloth~revisitedCREEPY CLOTH: <i><b>Beautiful </b>but <b>dangerous</b></i><br />
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In the previous post, we discussed the wonders and many uses of creepy cloth. But I feel that it's only fair to let you know some of the pitfalls and dangers of this strange and wondrous weave.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeJhNPLJydqV4_r7D-1RasrIMLw8ASRfj5Ev7bnbiJwnn4bw8uDqtoARbocYzb5qOmsf0TJnuTEfYJc5l_vQblXdAB0uG_f1Vdsh7hhhdv8amZp7rdnYwGjkv8GWm8iKYhxGpdGXef8PQ/s1600/003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeJhNPLJydqV4_r7D-1RasrIMLw8ASRfj5Ev7bnbiJwnn4bw8uDqtoARbocYzb5qOmsf0TJnuTEfYJc5l_vQblXdAB0uG_f1Vdsh7hhhdv8amZp7rdnYwGjkv8GWm8iKYhxGpdGXef8PQ/s320/003.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkSdsbItLsXMy-tbKrby4Gn1EoGUXHapf9Nt8C4cVsAB1F_8jCbXPdNnPRyMzbtLwkd4bum9euKCy0OTD6x0hYrtmfkrtxlT3-TjBNlb_3771b4S5ZY2JG2h_fOCDyFHOsyjMVZn1qgE/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Yesterday as I was decorating, I was standing on a chair that was wrapped in Creepy Cloth. When I stepped down to get off the chair, my foot became entangled in the web-like material. I tripped and almost tumbled off the chair. Later, I stood on the same chair (thinking I'd be extra careful this time) and it happened again! I was ensnared. I could have fallen and gashed my head on the stone fireplace!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXF_J4zMtPpRAMC_-HOOx5ZDg0L0CiRuXnk2kYN8kIylxiE6bqeufDDh5KjIZpgUeusFLd77wtg1u74sUGXqz-xPBxD7LIcAtW-AwrVyieffkl6977G78O52HhifIhMHkQgWnTOgQ-PI/s1600/002.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIXF_J4zMtPpRAMC_-HOOx5ZDg0L0CiRuXnk2kYN8kIylxiE6bqeufDDh5KjIZpgUeusFLd77wtg1u74sUGXqz-xPBxD7LIcAtW-AwrVyieffkl6977G78O52HhifIhMHkQgWnTOgQ-PI/s320/002.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
</td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkSdsbItLsXMy-tbKrby4Gn1EoGUXHapf9Nt8C4cVsAB1F_8jCbXPdNnPRyMzbtLwkd4bum9euKCy0OTD6x0hYrtmfkrtxlT3-TjBNlb_3771b4S5ZY2JG2h_fOCDyFHOsyjMVZn1qgE/s1600/014.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>A few minutes later, for some strange reason, my house-trained dog of 11 years decided to lift his leg on the creepy cloth I had draped over a table.<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwkSdsbItLsXMy-tbKrby4Gn1EoGUXHapf9Nt8C4cVsAB1F_8jCbXPdNnPRyMzbtLwkd4bum9euKCy0OTD6x0hYrtmfkrtxlT3-TjBNlb_3771b4S5ZY2JG2h_fOCDyFHOsyjMVZn1qgE/s320/014.JPG" style="cursor: move; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="259" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><i>"I guess every rose has its thorn." Poison</i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Was my faithful friend trying to exact revenge on this mysterious cloth?<br />
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We want our decorations to be scary but this is not the kind of fright we are looking for!<br />
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How can something so glorious be so deadly?Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-15057926403179111122010-10-13T06:15:00.000-07:002010-10-13T10:17:26.120-07:00HALLOWEEN DECORATING<i>My new find</i>: CREEPY CLOTH <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNi17hVw1FXelTDa32dFUkwUykZLCSjMTpwftaA5-tn72gyM_0gBzrHGWIGqLIpwR0LZ1EA902nqnXjEv7IQ4D-Ky3woqz9BCAX7d6nNWcR3BhUn9gPt3mPXnzWSS58ZnqD_RM0j7SF3U/s1600/180.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNi17hVw1FXelTDa32dFUkwUykZLCSjMTpwftaA5-tn72gyM_0gBzrHGWIGqLIpwR0LZ1EA902nqnXjEv7IQ4D-Ky3woqz9BCAX7d6nNWcR3BhUn9gPt3mPXnzWSS58ZnqD_RM0j7SF3U/s320/180.JPG" width="240" /></a>For me, this is the year of the Creepy Cloth. I just can't say enough about it. It's <i>creepy</i>, it's <i>clothy</i> and it hides a multitude of sins. Sometimes known as Forbidden Fabric or Trickster Trap, it comes in spooky shades of gray, beige, and black. I put it everywhere, over tables, chairs, windows....just about anything!<br />
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Try it! I think you'll agree that you can't get enough of it's creepy clothiness!!!!<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_K3D_UzsqnaFNHPMkfXnwgJEPQBVSmh5N2mJca2-d8aX9NozZld8-rneCxWR1a5tVteuE-6GzTR2JeHH3tZYuB5GxIpVeY_WJg7BsD-zpN5WCGcA30Ik3W3UtJy1lZ18t_UXyOQdFXKU/s320/182.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Creepy Cloth...it's a lifestyle.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_K3D_UzsqnaFNHPMkfXnwgJEPQBVSmh5N2mJca2-d8aX9NozZld8-rneCxWR1a5tVteuE-6GzTR2JeHH3tZYuB5GxIpVeY_WJg7BsD-zpN5WCGcA30Ik3W3UtJy1lZ18t_UXyOQdFXKU/s1600/182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNkJ3wrUu2a_lJJ7-ff7fr47sClPKXgl3UDHhSoCrmEQ-a5WSPC2QZG4X_MnyOUyRQhDcJxkfNfRGLlsntGJHqBeYMHU09GJ-k_Wmoo_Lon6vni7cbnspXnsXqhrgtiXRRIkNO3kHD4Sk/s1600/181.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-7834493300441471542010-10-12T04:58:00.000-07:002010-10-13T10:14:18.435-07:00Tip of the Day: Don't Be Impulsive<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQbTKwPtANj2ndWSkCorIyW3TblzuOKPHsYXCvfOPkXTOxY_FmoRHVc7ri8HsAIaLZvoZlMjzIUPvR_I8FeH7nTeck6el2Ymog-a-L04Aa1m0cDLlXc5zvRCu1mHK1te2yXBw6x2406M/s1600/084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYQbTKwPtANj2ndWSkCorIyW3TblzuOKPHsYXCvfOPkXTOxY_FmoRHVc7ri8HsAIaLZvoZlMjzIUPvR_I8FeH7nTeck6el2Ymog-a-L04Aa1m0cDLlXc5zvRCu1mHK1te2yXBw6x2406M/s320/084.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>It is never good to be impulsive.<br />
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Let me give you an example: This is purely hypothetical, mind you. Let's just say a certain someone suggested you write a blog, so you did. On impulse, in a moment of crazy hilarity you posted it for all the world to see. Later (after a good night's sleep) you decided that you probably should have given it more thought. But it was too late, the deed was done. <br />
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~PATIENCE IS A VIRTUE.~<br />
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<i><i>(Hope you enjoyed this tip and the accompanying hypothetical example. Sure, I could have given you an example of some impulsive thing I've done in my life, but I think this hypothetical one is good enough. You get the idea.) <br />
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<i><i></i></i></i>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3566033183461143617.post-69450385550358871072010-10-11T07:25:00.000-07:002010-10-12T06:34:39.371-07:00What are your dreams trying to tell you?I am an expert on dream interpretation. Have you ever wondered what your dreams mean? <br />
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MY DREAM:<br />
Last night I had a dream about Jacob of Twilight fame. He asked me if I had any "roids." I replied, "The only 'roids' I have are hemorrhoids."<br />
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MY INTERPRETATION:<br />
Since hemorrhoids are the varicose veins of the rectum, one interpretation of this dream would be....I am about to experience something painful and embarrassing in my life. Another interpretation would be........ I am just a pain in the a@# with a ripped, young lover who is a wolf.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://i454.photobucket.com/albums/qq266/xoissieox/jacob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://i454.photobucket.com/albums/qq266/xoissieox/jacob.jpg" /></a></div>Karen Connerhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07924946016009892392noreply@blogger.com0