<?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'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320</id><updated>2009-11-08T11:28:31.776-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Busy Doing Nuthin'</title><subtitle type='html'>Name Speaks For Itself...</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default?start-index=26&amp;max-results=25'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>371</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>25</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-8957169092984932851</id><published>2007-09-30T20:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-30T23:53:29.542-07:00</updated><title type='text'>NEW SITE!!!!</title><content type='html'>Found a new site! Am still slowly working out the bugs but from now on, I'll be yelling at a different location: &lt;a href="http://www.busydoingnuthin.com/"&gt;Busy Doing Nuthin' &lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See you on the flip side......&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-8957169092984932851?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=8957169092984932851' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/8957169092984932851'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/8957169092984932851'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/found-new-site-should-be-up-running-in.html' title='NEW SITE!!!!'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-4391986923444272785</id><published>2007-09-27T12:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-27T12:21:14.869-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Your Future Self...</title><content type='html'>If the future you could fax a statement to you, what would it say?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Perhaps it would say that dressing your dog up in stupid shirts was a bad idea or maybe that it's not as bad as the woman outside Nestors that puts a hoodie on her poodle and covers it's little ears.... terrible look by the way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-4391986923444272785?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=4391986923444272785' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/4391986923444272785'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/4391986923444272785'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/your-future-self.html' title='Your Future Self...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-5365165568544609585</id><published>2007-09-25T22:59:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T23:02:24.149-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Want to Clarify...</title><content type='html'>As I've been over thinking things as I do &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(who else remembers conversations from when they were 8?) &lt;/span&gt;I want to clarify that I welcome the critiques as they add to fuel to the blogging fire &amp;amp; spawn stuff I may otherwise forget like the STORK... didn't write about the stork... will write about the stork when I know more about the stork &amp;amp; it's not the stork that brings babies but rather it brings disease and conquers the world. Yes you should be confused as was I for most of the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;more to come on storks &amp;amp; other non sensical musings&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-5365165568544609585?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=5365165568544609585' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/5365165568544609585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/5365165568544609585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/want-to-clarify.html' title='Want to Clarify...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-699417504072236933</id><published>2007-09-25T13:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-25T13:50:36.878-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='innapropriate'/><title type='text'>Inappropriate Started at a Young Age...</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RvlvjvqKhiI/AAAAAAAAAS0/EaiL7SfbcKY/s1600-h/nanznose.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RvlvjvqKhiI/AAAAAAAAAS0/EaiL7SfbcKY/s320/nanznose.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5114241511735330338" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may recall my friend, Nanz &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(seriously the best picture EVER.  I've had to promise her that I wouldn't post this on facebook)&lt;/span&gt;.  Well, I met her the first day of grade three as she was the new kid in class when at recess, I grabbed her hand &amp;amp; exclaimed &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Let's play!" &lt;/span&gt;and dragged her out to the see saws&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(Am realizing that I wasn't just inappropriate but bossy then too... )&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;Now, it may occur to you that there is nothing wrong with just transpired and you're right there was nothing wrong with what had just transpired. In fact, it could even be deemed cute that I welcomed the new girl with such exuberance.  It's more what I said AFTER we met up with her sister that could turn some heads &amp;amp; ask &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"'scuze me?"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you recall, I'm the same girl that played &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;'I'm the only Gay Eskimo'&lt;/span&gt; to the gay guy at work and reiterated Will Ferrel's Neil Diamond sketch to the Columbian immigrant &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;'...my creativity is fueled by my hatred for immigrants &amp;amp; breaks into Coming to America...'&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it's of no surprise that the first thing that popped out of my mouth would be &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"I've never seen people like you before!" &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yea, I said that.... and it isn't because she is black.... it's because she's half black. Yea, loved my mom but I think she slept in the morning she was to teach me manners.  You see, I used to see Nanz, her sister &amp;amp; her mother &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(who is white)&lt;/span&gt; at swimming lessons at the pool during the summer and I did what any clueless child in that situation would do... I stared and for long periods of time to the point where Dressage &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(her sister)&lt;/span&gt; gave me the eye stare back &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(you know you look at the person &amp;amp; bug your eyes out back at them to say 'yes, F off, I can see you staring at me).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I once asked a friend around the same time &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;"How was the funeral?"&lt;/span&gt; and was told  you NEVER ask that question... and  to my recollection, have never uttered those words again... You see, I DO learn from my mistakes... just tell me.   Course, I'll just find other ways to embarrass others &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(it's never me at the time, I'm clueless)&lt;/span&gt;. Talk to loud, fall down and so on.. the list just grows....&lt;br /&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-699417504072236933?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=699417504072236933' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/699417504072236933'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/699417504072236933'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/inappropriate-started-at-young-age.html' title='Inappropriate Started at a Young Age...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RvlvjvqKhiI/AAAAAAAAAS0/EaiL7SfbcKY/s72-c/nanznose.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-8699050575225377494</id><published>2007-09-24T14:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T16:40:39.355-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='SNL'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='clips'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gay'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Mad TV'/><title type='text'>I'm the only Gay Eskimo...</title><content type='html'>I've been listening to this for years &amp;amp; actully thought for years it was from SNL and featured Jack Black. This is because I downloaded from limewire &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(I don't steal music)&lt;/span&gt; and I can make up what it would look like in my head which is actuallly WAAAAAAAAAAAAY funnier then what I ended up seeing today.  Although... still a chuckle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="350" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/bid9KsuxECA"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/bid9KsuxECA" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="350" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What's even better is that I played this for the unconfirmed gay guy at work &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(only unconfirmed at the time. I later met his partner. Also I'm the only one that picked up on it... For no reason either. One day I just looked at him  &amp;amp; decided to start using partner instead of gf. I have the gaydar)&lt;/span&gt; ... So apparently  I'm so inappropriate to the point of it being cute because I'm so clueless.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My other favourite moment was singing the words to Will Ferrell's sketch on SNL of Neil Diamond, to the woman who had immigrated here from Columbia &amp;amp; I quote:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"My creativity is fueled by my hatred for immigrants" and then sang "Coming to America"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually saw Ceasar's mouth open to stop me from spitting it out but the words fell out of my mouth non the less and instead, she hung her head &amp;amp; shook it. Yea, I'm classy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-8699050575225377494?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=8699050575225377494' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/8699050575225377494'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/8699050575225377494'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/im-only-gay-eskimo.html' title='I&apos;m the only Gay Eskimo...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-6136058100927186825</id><published>2007-09-24T08:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-24T09:42:44.247-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='misconceptions.'/><title type='text'>the trouble with blogs..</title><content type='html'>So I was chastised on Saturday because my post about last weekend read like one long inside joke which does happen from time to time as I have to decide whether or not I'm going to let you in on the joke  and then I'm really trying to decide between a super long as post or a continuous post for days........&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It also got asked whether or not I had sex in that post. I want to clear this up now, I have not nor have I ever had sex on this blog . There are  certain things I will write about &amp;amp; reveal about myself. My hoo ha being a big topic of that nature but sex will never get talked about. Mostly because I figure I could start another website and charge for that kind of information (JOKE.. it's a joke.  It was pointed out to me that you don't always know it's a joke).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But in all honesty, I would never talk about that subject for several reasons. One of which, it's really non of your business. If there is a ancedote where that would be part of the story, I tend to glaze over it &amp;amp; trust you are smart enough to read between the lines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Secondly, this is supposed to be a funny &amp;amp; light hearted blog. I make jokes. Nothing serious gets written about (with a few exceptions) but I don't like to air real relationship dirty laundry out in the open. If I do, it would be quite veiled. If I am talking about you, aka: Trainwreck, I pretty much have lost all respect for you and value nothing that transpires between the 2 of us.  However, someone like Furniture Man did get mentioned but in the context of me visiting him. But I would like to think you don't know the intimate details of our relationship as that is private. If I do refer to sex... it is ALWAYS for the joke or even to move the story along. Even they kiss in disney movies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thirdly, I have family that reads this... I don't want them knowing everything.. weird!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fourth &amp;amp; last point. I have a time buffer too. If something happened this past weekend that would be a good story but seems too soon to talk about... I'd wait about a year. The cousin date was funny because it happened in 1999. Ok, so it's just funny but I would probably start making fun of my break up with Furniture Man a year from now as the dust has settle &amp;amp; feelings are no longer really an issue.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But bottom line... Nothing of any real value to me gets unfolded here. If I could tell a stranger the story, I will write it. (I have become very comfortable talking about my hoo ha). Which is funny as some guys I have dated have read this &amp;amp; I'm pretty sure it freaks them out because they think I'm some big party girl but as I've said many many times, the stories where I just sit there aren't as funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So no, I didn't have sex with the gay guy I dated either... he just watched.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm also debating about switching from Blogger so I can multiple pages so I can have the rules of the blog and a cast of characters handy for reference.... as some ppl do not like their names but as of the weekend have found ones that stick.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-6136058100927186825?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=6136058100927186825' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/6136058100927186825'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/6136058100927186825'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/trouble-with-blogs.html' title='the trouble with blogs..'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-1691458161015492707</id><published>2007-09-21T12:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T12:47:41.191-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kelowna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='lies'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='friends'/><title type='text'>I'm looking for a Good Labial Crack</title><content type='html'>I got ahead of myself yesterday when I referenced a person I had yet to write about. I also can't believe I failed to mention one of the biggest characters I have met in some time I'll name Pathological.   I use the word character because I am not sure if I met the real him or a composite of him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the Sunday of the Labour Day weekend, 15 of us got together to go wine touring in &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kelowna,_British_Columbia"&gt;Kelowna&lt;/a&gt; &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(huge wine country up there)&lt;/span&gt;. Course we had hired a van to drive us around as none of us are responsible enough to spit &amp;amp; drive. So we piled into 2 vans. One of which had a very young &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(21) &lt;/span&gt;hot blonde driver to which Dickhouse couldn't help admiring.  Quick to his aid, as a good friend and wingman is, Pathological tells the hot driver that Dickhouse is a Google Earth Pilot...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, a Google Earth Pilot.  You know how Google Earth has photographs of pretty much everywhere on earth up to the minute.. well as the story goes, pilots fly all over to capture those moments for the web (and you thought it was satellite) and Dickhouse is one of them... I'm not sure if she didn't believe him either but I have to admit Pathological has a certain je ne sais quoi when he tells a story. Charisma doesn't quite sum it up perhaps convincing does.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before I was introduced to him, I was informed of this tale he told the driver.. I was also told he likes to lie.... like all the time. Not lying as he puts it.  As he puts it, girls don't want to hear about the boring marketing bla bla that you do on a daily basis. THIS, this is a conversation starter.  You start off by telling someone you're a Google earth pilot and before you know it, you're engrossed in conversation... yes, it's gross.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example Mr Profession told us he is a Chiropractic Gynecologist and we giggled. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(may have been the wine)&lt;/span&gt;. And he says.. I know! I know! everyone laughs but it is real.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"I studied down in California just recently moved back to Vancouver to open my own practice there"&lt;/span&gt; he explains.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then he goes on to explain any objections you may have as he's heard it ALL before. This especially comes in handy when the girl at hand has her boyfriend standing there objecting to what Pathological is saying. WITHOUT flinching he can masterfully&lt;span class="on down" style="display: block;" id="formatbar_CreateLink" title="Link" onmouseover="ButtonHoverOn(this);" onmouseout="ButtonHoverOff(this);" onmouseup="" onmousedown="CheckFormatting(event);FormatbarButton('richeditorframe', this, 8);ButtonMouseDown(this);"&gt;&lt;img src="img/gl.link.gif" alt="Link" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; not only pull off this lie but you start to think you should make an appointment with him. It's a beautiful thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you go through my friends on facebook &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(and oh YOU too could be one... )&lt;/span&gt;, you'll note he said he know me because  we &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"met randomly in 2007: We worked together at a Chiropractic Gynecological Facility in San Diego"&lt;/span&gt;.  Felt so honoured to be part of the lie because let's face it, I LOOOOOVE a good story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Course when I met the &lt;a href="http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/my-apartment.html"&gt;OBGYN&lt;/a&gt; on Saturday, my first instinct was to ask if he knew Pathological as I figured that was just a conversation starter.... course when I realized he REALLY was a doctor, I could not help myself from talking about my &lt;a href="http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2006/09/leannes-vagina-monologue.html"&gt;Hoo Ha&lt;/a&gt; for 20 minutes &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(yes, I keep bringing that up ... it too is a beautiful thing).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt; When I emailed Pathological to tell him of my amusing encounter, he asked me if I have developed my own fake profession... It's a delicate thing. You don't just make something up that would be totally believable but you create something kind of odd that makes the person think is she/he or isn't she/he?  The more ostentatious the lie... the more likely the person will believe... But I had nothing. Not 2 minutes after hitting send I got this in my inbox:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"Highly suggest something like, "Lead Negotiator for NetJets." You work with Bombardier, Gulfstream, Lear, Honda, etc., to negotiate the lease/buy contracts for all of the aircraft in the fleet. Your dad was a pilot so you grew up around planes. And after attending Law School at UCLA you decided that you'd prefer to use your skills to negotiate contracts. You moved back to Vancouver since NetJets has an alliance connection to MillionAir at the YVR and it's an easy direct flight from Vancouver to all of the major manufacturers. Oh my god this rocks!"&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm telling you this shit just rolls off his tongue... I have 3 weeks to get this story down with a straight face for his party. Course he'll be there helping the tale along... can't wait!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-1691458161015492707?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=1691458161015492707' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/1691458161015492707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/1691458161015492707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/im-looking-for-good-labial-crack.html' title='I&apos;m looking for a Good Labial Crack'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-4084423858053408457</id><published>2007-09-21T11:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-21T12:02:31.841-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Business Time</title><content type='html'>Thank you Shaloah for all the links this week.... Happy Friday! wish it was Wednesday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/WGOohBytKTU"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/WGOohBytKTU" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-4084423858053408457?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=4084423858053408457' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/4084423858053408457'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/4084423858053408457'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/business-time.html' title='Business Time'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-8843921391918821277</id><published>2007-09-20T09:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-20T12:42:31.651-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dating'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='flirting'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Saturday night'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='men'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='drinking'/><title type='text'>My Apartment....</title><content type='html'>So let's say we meet. We chat. We get to know each other. You tell me where you live. Perhaps it's Langley. I tell you I live downtown in Yaletown. You think that's fancy. Although, I know what a shoebox of a home I live in, you wonder what my apartment looks like.  So you say to me &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"Wanna show me what a Yaletown apartment looks like?"&lt;/span&gt; except instead of an email we're at Bar None, and instead of 2pm it's 2 am and instead of being sober we're hammered AND instead of you being attractive, you're one creepy ass married guy from Toronto.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yea... no matter which way you ask that... it's creepy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I totally did him. Ok, so it was more like I looked at him with disgust and walked away to talk to someone I considered to be 'safe'.... my friend's old boss. Which under normal circumstances IS a safe person. As he is in no way a threat nor is he a dick BUT when asked&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt; "So are you coming over to have sex?"&lt;/span&gt; I feel the need to flee and straight into a limo with the Toronto Argonauts.... Since when did hanging out with a Football team become the best choice? Well, let me take you back to a time I like to call Saturday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saturday started when I met up with some girlfriends down at Opus as they took out a bride to be for dinner as they couldn't attend her stagette up in Whistler this weekend. It was also High rise's birthday so he and the boys went to the Lion's game for a little football action and beer. I met up with the girls at Opus&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; (worst service EVER!)&lt;/span&gt; and we headed over to Glowbal for birthday fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Glowbal is divided into 2 sections the restaurant up front and the lounge, After Glo,  in the back.  The back room was pretty much filled with our friends. It's not a big place but when everyone is piled up directly in front of the bar, it makes for an even more crowded venue. Everywhere you turn, there are people. One time I turned and started chatting with an OBGYN.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I automatically think he's friends with the Pathological liar I met up in Kelowna &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(story to come and realize this part would have been funnier if I had explained my new friend to you)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;so I kept asking him.. do you know Mike. When I realize that he is indeed an OBGYN, I couldn't help myself, I had to tell him my &lt;a href="http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2006/09/leannes-vagina-monologue.html"&gt;stirrup story.&lt;/a&gt; I couldn't help myself, I have never met one of them out of their natural environment &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(between my legs) &lt;/span&gt;and I told him this. He wanted to remind me that they are people too which I agree with but I just don't want mine to exist outside of that little room. As far as I'm concerned no one really LOOKS at my Hoo ha as long or to the extent to which those doctors do. He told me it's all business. Sure, but last time I checked I never just took off my pants &amp;amp; placed a paper sheet across me for kicks &amp;amp; giggles. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(I'm now picturing one messed up sexual experience)... &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I  don't know how to recover from talking to a stranger about my hoo ha so I moved along.  Perhaps because I bring up my crotch when I first meet someone or perhaps I'm always looking in the wrong places but honestly, I think the real reason I'm single is because I'm mildly retarded... there really is no other way to explain how I never pick up on the fact I'm being hit on... or at least in a subtle way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm talking to someone I deemed geeky at first but after speaking with for some time, gained points on the hottie scale. I loved that he was decked out in name brand clothes head to ankle and then donned 12 dollar shoes. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(well not LOVED as I always look at shoes but I like the fact he wore something because he liked them vs it's cool or what have you and it's funny)&lt;/span&gt; ANYWAYS... we chat &amp;amp; I do something I never do... I offered to buy him a drink. Mostly because I'm cheap but to be honest, guys usually are buying me drinks probably because it's something they think they should do and the fastest &amp;amp; easiest way for me to say yes to the disgusting things their going to suggest in my ear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I buy him and the birthday boy a drink and we chat some more (now, it's some on into the night &amp;amp; I've inbibed quite a bit so the next part of the conversation is a little fuzzy to me) He says to me&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt; "You're 32 how could I date you?"&lt;/span&gt; and I retort &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;"oh yea, I know I'm not 18"&lt;/span&gt;... and he says &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"no no... "How could I date you?"&lt;/span&gt;.  You know what I heard? &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"Yea, there is no way in hell I 'd be seen out with you in public"&lt;/span&gt; not the as I've later been explained to &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"please inform me what to do here"&lt;/span&gt;... yea, so after I shot him down now twice &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(which was the real goal with me spending time &amp;amp; money on a guy I'm trying to get to know)&lt;/span&gt; he mentions that I should go to the party he's leaving the bar for. I THEN explain that I'm sticking with my girls that night &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(why???? they don't care. They leave me all the time)&lt;/span&gt; and then he left... with out me.. Yes, if I were a movie , it'd be about here you'd either be yelling at the screen what an idiot I am or getting up &amp;amp; leaving because I liken my stupidity to Jon Favreau's character in Swingers.... painful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, Glowbal shut down and me and my girls headed to Bar None &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(knew I stayed with them for a reason)&lt;/span&gt; It was about here where the night went from drunk to drunker. We headed into the back VIP area and ran into several of the players from Toronto... I of course tell them I don't like the CFL or Toronto and this could be the answer to psycho player on Brutal's couch that asked me why I was there, all of his friends were all over me.  True I was talking to several people .. whether or not they played is another question. I basically just told them how much I hate the leafs and then was asked to show off my apartment so I went to the bar where it was 'safe'  but even better, get plied with alcohol.  So as the ugly lights were being turned on, I was being asked if I was coming over for some good luvin'.... yea? what was that Bell? You're going outside? let me run er walk with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Standing outside collecting ourselves presented a bit of a conundrum for Bell... does she go with the giant player or go home... I had one question: Is he NOT  the hottest guy you've ever seen? so she ran off only to come scurrying back 2 seconds later &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"His friend wants to meet you"&lt;/span&gt;. Seeing as my hot sexy proposition was explaining to me that I'm the one missing out, I happily ran off to jump in a limo with the lot of them and go... TWO BLOCKS??? yea, they dropped us off at Sui Hang, the late night chinese restaurant that's known for it's 'special tea' &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;(beer)&lt;/span&gt; on Granville Street. Declining to go in, I scampered off to Brutal's place only to find creepy &amp;amp; yet  another player on her couch. I would have just turned around and gone home but my feet were in SEARING pain so I needed to sit off the pain for a few moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral of the story: get some confidence in yourself &amp;amp; always wear comfortable shoes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-8843921391918821277?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=8843921391918821277' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/8843921391918821277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/8843921391918821277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/my-apartment.html' title='My Apartment....'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-1855867990516526415</id><published>2007-09-19T13:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-19T13:44:56.735-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='videos'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='abstinence'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='punk'/><title type='text'>The Male Phoebe</title><content type='html'>Thank you Shaloah for passing this ditty along to me.   The first one is about 3 minutes long &amp;amp; the second is about a minute and a half.  Granted their a new testament to having songs that won't leave your head but are FUH-NEE...... &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/2aKQMZ_HTb8"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/2aKQMZ_HTb8" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is an offering to the Punk &amp;amp; Grunge People out there&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/GRmVp4obEhg"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/GRmVp4obEhg" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-1855867990516526415?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=1855867990516526415' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/1855867990516526415'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/1855867990516526415'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/male-phoebe.html' title='The Male Phoebe'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-7826456061731554049</id><published>2007-09-17T23:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-18T00:54:38.587-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Doormen'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bars'/><title type='text'>Least Likely Source...</title><content type='html'>Now, I'm not going to lie to you... I've gone to a couple of bars in my lifetime *cough* Ok, so I've been to a couple of bars this week. Even though, I've been known to be a bit of a lush, there are some drawbacks to frequenting such locales.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The hangover is an obvious negative and is becoming worse as this broad gets on in her years. Creepy, slimy men that ogle, drool, pathetically attempt to pick you up can be construed as a drawback but due to highly hilarious stories that result, they generally aren't so bad.  Over pricing, over crowding &amp;amp; not finding somewhere to sit could be a problem. Even the music could be bad but then you just change locations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No... all of that can be over come &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(with the aid of some ibuprofen and a gatorade)&lt;/span&gt;, it's CRAPPY ass door men that piss you off that you really can't do anything about.  They're big, cranky &amp;amp; in my opinion not always of the highest intelligence &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(Ok, so for arguments sake &amp;amp; because I don't want to hear about it, not ALL doormen are dickheads as I have been friends with a few in my day but for my argument, I need to build some momentum).  &lt;/span&gt;It's their infuriating nature to which they dangle a good time in front of your face &amp;amp; if you are lucky enough, they will let you in. I thank Studio 54 for creating such a melee.  Why some guy that is paid 12/hr decides whether or not I'm allowed in. FINE.. fire codes &amp;amp; over crowding are acceptable but it's when they're a dickhead that really turns me off. As thought the establishment doesn't really need my patronage and whether I come in, has no bearing on them. My favourite is when a bar will keep a line to MAKE it look busy when in fact there is no one inside.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I vowed after I turned 25 to not wait in useless line ups any more. If it's a matter of clearing the coat check... fine. If it's 5 minutes... fine but you reach an age &amp;amp;  you start to know enough people, that really, you shouldn't have to WAIT the 3 hours you did when you were 18.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;CASE IN POINT. Friday night, I was out for Stine's bf's birthday &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;(nickname to come)&lt;/span&gt;, and we decided after dinner to go to the Beagle for drinks. The beagle is a pub in Kits located on Broadway. We like it because you know a few people there &amp;amp; it's busy enough for that party feel you're craving.... As my friends were waiting to enter, up walks little blonde thing that shook her tits up to the doorman. As she was talking, Dark Bunny got a little impatient. We MAY have had one bottle of saki too many at the restaurant but lippy is not what Dark Bunny is. Hell, I've never even seen her raise her voice.... well, not in a serious way. So when she said &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"ok honey, are you going to seal the deal or what?"&lt;/span&gt; we laugh because HELLO! it's a joke. I find out that she said this as she was being escorted from the line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You see, when I showed up to meet them, the doorman looked us &amp;amp; declared that none of us were getting in. We looked at him dumbfounded &amp;amp; he relented &amp;amp; said &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Ok. SHE'S not getting in because she was rude to my friend" &lt;/span&gt;Ok.. WTF?? are you serious. Dude, you know that chick will never sleep with you right? She already got what she wanted and by the way.... it's the Beagle. Get over yourself which is what I mentioned to him after we decided to leave. Yea, I felt like mentioning to him that he's retarded so I may not be allowed back there either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Course, this is the same place I came with Kung Yu one night where upon falling out of the cab, I marched right in to the pub not feeling one care in the world. I would even say I traipsed in as though I was entitled. So after Kung Yu pointed out I walked right in, Shaloah &amp;amp; Stine pointed out I walked right in, &amp;amp; then doorman came in after me &amp;amp; exclaimed &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"you walked right in"&lt;/span&gt; I couldn't for the life of me, figure out what the problem was &amp;amp; could only answer back&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; "yea....... and?" &lt;/span&gt;and then we stared at each other.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was much in the same manner the uncomfortable silences I shared with my father.  He would approch my bedroom door &amp;amp; ask if I took out the garbage. After I would reply &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"yes"&lt;/span&gt;,  &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(and only in that tone an 18 year old can muster after years of breeding resentment)&lt;/span&gt; we would just stare at each other waiting for the other to add something to the conversation. He in my doorway and me sitting on my bed.  Only he could break the awkward confrontation &amp;amp; would by walking away. I wouldn't talk to him again til the next day.  Our phone conversations pretty much work in this kind of flow continuum hence my reluctance to phone him.&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;However, in this instance, it seemed simple to me.  This was a bar, I want to drink, I walk in.... Unbeknown st to my beer goggles&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt; (more of beer shields. The kind that gives you tunnel vision and takes away your side perspective)&lt;/span&gt;, I wasn't aware of the small line up that had formed.  Needless to say, I won. Nor do I still understand the problem that night as the place was empty and all anyone could say to me was "you walked right in"... YES yes, i did.. No one is here so why is this an issue?  that and I think I'm pretty darn special.  The special police told me so when  managed to rescue a dozen puppies from a burning building with my bare hands. Now if that's not miller time then I don't know what is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-7826456061731554049?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=7826456061731554049' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/7826456061731554049'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/7826456061731554049'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/least-likely-source.html' title='Least Likely Source...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-5890164618802299347</id><published>2007-09-13T12:42:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-13T12:53:14.320-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dogs aren't Reindeer</title><content type='html'>I've mentioned it before. Dogs don't like reindeer or emulating them in any way. They would much rather be Santa as seen below. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(yes, I have NO LIFE if I'm still posting pictures of my dog from over 10 years ago)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RumUvwkV_VI/AAAAAAAAASs/EQEXnTBMirg/s1600-h/dogs+hate+antlers.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RumUvwkV_VI/AAAAAAAAASs/EQEXnTBMirg/s320/dogs+hate+antlers.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109778800440638802" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;LOOK HOW SAD HE IS.. his tail is down &amp; hating me! Like our stockings? Mine is Rudolf&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RumUvgkV_UI/AAAAAAAAASk/xlYpwLaP1Oo/s1600-h/Mumford.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RumUvgkV_UI/AAAAAAAAASk/xlYpwLaP1Oo/s320/Mumford.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109778796145671490" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;and you've seen this before but look how he smiles with the Santa hat.&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/21837320-5890164618802299347?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=5890164618802299347' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/5890164618802299347'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/5890164618802299347'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/dogs-arent-reindeer.html' title='Dogs aren&apos;t Reindeer'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RumUvwkV_VI/AAAAAAAAASs/EQEXnTBMirg/s72-c/dogs+hate+antlers.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-8548031113992486150</id><published>2007-09-12T13:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-12T13:31:59.746-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crab race'/><title type='text'>Crab Shoot...</title><content type='html'>First rule of crab racing... don't talk about crab racing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I won't. I'll post photos&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RuhMKwkV_QI/AAAAAAAAASE/KSDxrvFwJm4/s1600-h/n540756082_462316_9137.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RuhMKwkV_QI/AAAAAAAAASE/KSDxrvFwJm4/s320/n540756082_462316_9137.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109417524971568386" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Here they are pre-race/dinner in the tub. You can see Syphilis to the right of the hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RuhMLAkV_RI/AAAAAAAAASM/fP2snRUCrDI/s1600-h/n540756082_462318_9694.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RuhMLAkV_RI/AAAAAAAAASM/fP2snRUCrDI/s320/n540756082_462318_9694.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109417529266535698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Here we are hovering around waiting impatiently for them to do anything.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RuhMLAkV_SI/AAAAAAAAASU/EcSZ7Y3ScFg/s1600-h/n540756082_462319_9963.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RuhMLAkV_SI/AAAAAAAAASU/EcSZ7Y3ScFg/s320/n540756082_462319_9963.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5109417529266535714" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Impatient for them to move, we got out the chopsticks &amp;amp; prodded them to move to no avail. My hair is blocking Lucy from view.&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/21837320-8548031113992486150?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=8548031113992486150' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/8548031113992486150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/8548031113992486150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/crab-shoot.html' title='Crab Shoot...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RuhMKwkV_QI/AAAAAAAAASE/KSDxrvFwJm4/s72-c/n540756082_462316_9137.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-5797768101280868958</id><published>2007-09-11T20:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-11T22:53:49.032-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='motorboat'/><title type='text'>You Motorboating Son-of-a-Bitch</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Motorboat: &lt;/span&gt;T&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;he placement of one's face, specifically the mouth, into the area between a well-endowed woman's breasts, followed by a rapid shaking of the face in a side-to-side motion accompanied by yelling. The resulting sound that is created sounds similar to an outboard boat motor.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for labour day weekend, a few friends &amp; I trekked up to Kelowna for a weekend of fun times, wine, wine touring and more fun times.  Fun times were indeed had as was the wine.  No shock that they tend to go hand in hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On our second night out on the town, we hit Rose's pub which has a LOVELY patio right on the lake. Among the multitudes of drunk people was a fellow in the fanciest &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;(and by fancy I mean a value village special)&lt;/span&gt; brown suit off set by a baby blue shirt.  Jammer actually had pointed him out earlier in the evening so by the time the social butterfly had made his way past our table, Jammer had enough drinks in her to grab him exclaiming&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; "Hey you motorboating son-of-a-bitch"&lt;/span&gt; and proceeded to grab with both hands around the back of his neck and pull his head to her cleavage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if it was because he was completely stunned or crazy drunk blondes are frightening&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt; (probably not.. which by the way is some obvious foreshadowing)&lt;/span&gt; but the look in his eyes &amp; his complete resistance to Jammer wasn't as amusing as watching her wrestle with all her might to make him succumb to the boat and like most.... he finally did with a resounding brrrrrrrrrrb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When we finished he looked at me and asked if I was next.... to which I replied no... Not because I'm opposed to the motorboat as I'm usually the one administering the task but because let's face it my girls are quite the disappointment. Because of the pathetic showing that they've made I'm not above wearing cutlets to enhance the look and well, I could just picture him pushing his face side to side knocking one of my cutlets right into someone's drink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward to later in the evening when Suit &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;(I still didn't know his name as the moment never really presented itself.  Every time he'd walk past our table, I would just yell out "Suit! suit! to beckon him over as I had more boobs for him... Was feeling pimpish that night)&lt;/span&gt; managed to win a way into my heart... he was plying me with alcohol.  It was after our second shooter when declares that I like him. To which I had to enquire why he thought that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He goes onto explain that when I resisted him motorboating me that it showed I liked him &amp; I was putting up a challenge. Not only did I choke on my drink becuase I was laughing, I managed to retort &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"Oh yea, I'm a big challenge".&lt;/span&gt;  It was about then when Suze walked by stuck her head between my boobs &amp;amp; motorboated me like no other.  Something about that moment seemed not only ironic but mocking..... Yea, dude, I'm in love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-5797768101280868958?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=5797768101280868958' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/5797768101280868958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/5797768101280868958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/you-motorboating-son-of-bitch.html' title='You Motorboating Son-of-a-Bitch'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-4867530704358254282</id><published>2007-09-11T15:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-11T15:58:17.214-07:00</updated><title type='text'>sorry I'm about to subject you to this...</title><content type='html'>&lt;object height="350" width="425"&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kHmvkRoEowc"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kHmvkRoEowc" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="350"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kHmvkRoEowc"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kHmvkRoEowc" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" height="350" width="425"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-4867530704358254282?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=4867530704358254282' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/4867530704358254282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/4867530704358254282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/sorry-im-about-to-subject-you-to-this.html' title='sorry I&apos;m about to subject you to this...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-5814591987988641757</id><published>2007-09-10T10:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T10:48:11.943-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Crabs'/><title type='text'>First Annual Kitsilano Crab Race</title><content type='html'>I hit the Llama Lounge Saturday afternoon for what was the 1st Annual (and probably the last) Kitsilano Crab Race .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;First rule of Crab Race: &lt;/span&gt;You do not talk about Crab Race (ooops)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Second rule of Crab Race:&lt;/span&gt; You do not talk about Crab Race (double oops)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, we had all hit the markets, and carefully chosen our crabs. Upon arrival, we  placed them in the tub, registered your crab and sized up the competition which was fierce. There was #1, there was Lil' JW and the front runner... Syphilis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I named mine Lucy &amp; said it's competitive edge was it's anger. I was then informed it took after it's owner... to which I say &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"BAH!"&lt;/span&gt; and surprisingly DIDN'T smack Hark&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; (like to change it up.. the meds help but it's nice to keep em on their toes)&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When race time approached we lined up our crabs (we ran them in groups of 4) in a pen... Ready! Set! Go! and we released the block &amp; you know what happened?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing. Crabs don't do anything. I really don't know what we were thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Poking them with chopsticks doesn't help either. Capt'n managed to make hers scuttle 2 inches by poking it in the bum so we declared it an instant winner.  After a lackluster race &amp; a few Michael Vick comments we relented &amp;amp; decided to just throw em in the pot. I think Lucy was just mad I named him that... Found out you are only allowed to catch male crabs so giving him such an effeminate name angered him &amp;amp; out of protest wouldn't move...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think next year we are going to try Lobsters but I won't keep you informed as Rule 1 clearly states You don't.........&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-5814591987988641757?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=5814591987988641757' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/5814591987988641757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/5814591987988641757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/first-annual-kitsilano-crab-race.html' title='First Annual Kitsilano Crab Race'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-8862415051128738261</id><published>2007-09-04T12:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-09-04T12:55:11.965-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Kelowna'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Hotels'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='stag'/><title type='text'>How You Know You Don't Get Out Much...</title><content type='html'>I feel pretty safe in assuming that we've all been on a road trip. ANNNND I feel pretty safe in assuming that most of us have had too much to drink. ANNNNNND when you combine the two together, I feel pretty safe in assuming that it results in some late night hotel room debauchery &amp; loudness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;side bar:&lt;/span&gt; One Vernon tournament weekend resulted not only in being kicked out of the motel but my 2 friends &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;(brother's actually)&lt;/span&gt; spent a night in the drunk tank which actually worked in their favour. They both had beds &amp; a good night of sleep while the rest had slept in a car &amp;amp; SUCKED bad the next day on the field because of it&lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt; (definitely not the booze)&lt;/span&gt;... Actually only one brother had a good night of sleep. One didn't have a pillow &amp; one got to use a roll of toilet paper to prop up his head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ANYWAYS... so let's say you are on your stag &amp;amp; you want to do it up in style so you book a 1000/nite room. I suggest that unless you've done that before, don't start then... or just don't be a flaming retard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent the labour day weekend up in Kelowna and not surprisingly, I met a stag. So when a flock of us went back to the suite for some aprés bar fun, there was a knock on the door.  Yes, security came by to let us know we were too loud. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(not a shock really. We did have the windows open, music on &amp; we don't know how to speak w/out yelling).&lt;/span&gt; HOWEVER, it was the fat little agro man that spazzed at EVERYONE in the room that I couldn't handle. I don't appreciate someone yelling shut the f*ck up to my friends that are just sitting there.  Not to mention the groom was a complete dickwad &amp; was upset that he had been snubbed by Bell &amp;amp; brutal downstairs. I'm sorry, but girls get fed B.S. ALL THE TIME. So when you claim to be staying in some swank hotel &amp; then CAN'T get in &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;(no key, concierge ignores you)&lt;/span&gt;, we assume yea, you're lying. It's called getting over it. I had to hear about it for a good hour after the fact &amp; then the next day &amp;amp; then later that night...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, did that seem long? yea, not everyone was a dickhead.. there were others that were fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OH.. and what is the difference between a 1000/nite room and a 200/nite room? Security wears flak jackets in the latter. Apparently I was rooming in the ghetto. When sercurity knocked on our door friday night we were met by a swat team. (ok, one guy) but did that stop us from continuing to party...... &lt;span style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;"&gt;(ok, so I was asleep but my friends are nuts).&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-8862415051128738261?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=8862415051128738261' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/8862415051128738261'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/8862415051128738261'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/09/how-you-know-you-dont-get-out-much.html' title='How You Know You Don&apos;t Get Out Much...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-4250337370848772085</id><published>2007-08-30T11:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-30T12:57:42.125-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='starbucks'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dating'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='single'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='men.'/><title type='text'>Why I'm Single...</title><content type='html'>I am a faithful Starbucks drinker. I go if not once a day but 2 or 3 times. If I stopped drinking from there, I could probably save up a down payment for a condo. So needless to say, the Starbucks staff knows me &amp; they know what I drink. Sometimes they have the drink done &amp;amp; ready for me before I even order&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;. (That's the one time I change it up as I like to f*ck w/ them. It's really my only joy during the day)&lt;/span&gt;. My new caffinated religion started when I first moved downtown about 5 years ago. Vancouver's downtown core alternates between sushi restaurants and Starbucks' locations. If you don't believe go stand on the corner of Thurlow &amp; Robson and view the opposing coffee shops. But the new proximity made it easy for me to gain a new found addiction and our love affair began.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I first moved downtown, I lived in the west end with 2 girls that had nothing other then a fateful ending. My Starbucks located on Davie &amp;amp; Cardero next to the Safeway where I was robbed on my birthday &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(yea, 31 was great but I digress)&lt;/span&gt;. There were 2 guys that worked there that I always chatted with. One had a delightful accent &amp; would inadvertently give me grandés when I'd only order talls. The other was a goofy looking but friendly manager. I really didn't think to much of it back then. I mean, when I worked retail, I chatted with our regulars too. It creates good relationships right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, things at home weren't as sympatico and it was decided that it would be best if I moved out. For those that know me, know that well, I’m not exactly easy going… no, I think I’ve heard the saying: Leanne, RELAX, many many times. Yes, I can work myself into quite the frenzy and even more so on moving day. So caught up in all I had to do that day, I thought I’d take a break and run down to my west end Starbucks just ONE more time. The friendly manager was working that April morning and was telling me about the great day he was having.  His manager had came in that morning and had given him TWO Canuck Playoff tickets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, for those not huge hockey fans, not from Vancouver or even Canada for that matter may not know what a coveted item hockey playoff tickets are in Vancouver. They sell out FAST and have to be one of the best things about hockey &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(playoffs that is)&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So as he’s gloating about his glorious present he mentions that he has NO IDEA who he can take with him to the game that night….&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My response:&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt; Oh yea? Well, good luck with that&lt;/span&gt;.  And I walked away from his crest fallen face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the door was hitting on me on the ass, I realize &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"DOH!”&lt;/span&gt; that was the biggest hint drop EVER but what was I supposed to do then? Go running back in &amp; say.. OH TAKE ME! TAKE ME!  I get it now?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yea, not so much.  But like I said he was goofy looking &amp;amp; the Nucks lost anyways. Even better was the fact that I moved &amp; never went into that location again. So dude probably thought it was him... meh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This gave me a little insight to why I must be single… I’m retarded. Has to be as the retardation reared it's ugly head again just last nite.  As I was out w/ some friends for a post bday drink,  I got chatted up by a guy that I HAD met before &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(about a week and a half ago)&lt;/span&gt; and was making a pretty obvious play for me… or at least showing he was interested. THAT much I got.  However, he says to me &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"I hope to see you again"&lt;/span&gt;  &amp;  I respond with .. &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;"yea, you will"&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(non Shaloah way).&lt;/span&gt;..  Fueled by the fact my friends thought he was cute led me to a quick panic about exactly how will I see you again? how will this happen? or when? in November? Yea, I got nothing.   Not a oh, sure.. why don't you call me? or, you should come to this. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(course being that I rarely go out, I have nothing to invite him too. The Sex in the City characters always conveniently had openings and parties on the go.)&lt;/span&gt;  My friends mentioned that there really wasn't really anything else I could have said there but coming from a newly married and a newly boyfriended, they dont' know what it's like to be desperate er I mean a woman on the go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So Great. Now I have to resort back to grade nine tactics and go stalk Malone's patio. Worst is that I saw Hoops there &amp;amp; he'll probably think I'm stalking him.. WHICH I'm not.. setting the record straight.. AIN'T YOU... the other one.. the other one I'm stalking but in a good way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-4250337370848772085?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=4250337370848772085' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/4250337370848772085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/4250337370848772085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/08/why-im-single.html' title='Why I&apos;m Single...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-5887797083245219440</id><published>2007-08-28T16:47:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-30T14:28:54.432-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='PNE'/><title type='text'>Nothing about me feels 32...</title><content type='html'>I don't know if it has anything to do with the fact that I spent Sunday at the PNE with Splatter Platter and Madame High Kicks &amp; was waaaaaaay to into the Superdogs show. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(they really are SUPER dogs... )&lt;/span&gt; Perhaps I don't feel 32 because we watched the toon town parade that featured adolescent boys lip syncing to crappy music which forced me to wonder whether or not their balls have dropped. I'm not kidding the cheese factor was so high, I was waiting for Uncle Jesse to come out from behind a tree.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it definitely has nothing to do with only seeing people I know in the beer garden. My friends pointed out it seemed weird that I knew no one ALL day OUTSIDE the beer garden but IN the beer garden, I knew 5 people. What can I say? Like minded people tend to hang out at the same place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that without doubt, it has nothing to do with the fact we watched Trooper because when&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; "raise a little hell" &lt;/span&gt;was released I was learning to pee in the toilet and therefore I am too young to be nostalgic. &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(BTW.... There are still Trooper fans. Odd I know as I thought half the band would be dead by now but I saw someone wearing a Trooper t-shirt from a show in Nunavut 2006.... These people came to the PNE specifically to see Trooper to have a good time, not a long time. Still waiting for Uncle Jesse to take the stage.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm still having a face off with the eye cream that I got for my birthday last year and have yet to use it... Only old ladies use eye cream right? So that couldn't be an age feeling factor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It also has nothing to do with the fact that I want to learn to play the Air Jazz Flute. I have air drums down as well as air guitar&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; (Although, still haven't mastered jumping off the speakers while rocking out the guitar but I was always a little clumsy)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Side Bar:&lt;/span&gt; Madame High Kicks &amp; I went to the bathroom at the Hastings race course because the men to woman ratio there is about 9:1 so the line up for the bathroom was nil. However, the ratio of live creepy men to dead ones was ALSO 9:1.  MHK pointed out  a toothless wonder sitting in front of a gaming screen as we exited the loo.  So sure that this man was dead&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; (his feet were propped up &amp; he was passed out &amp;amp; there was no motion to him whatsoever)&lt;/span&gt; that we wouldn't even poke him. Rather, we just tossed trash at him to see if he'd flinch...  nothing. So instead of notifying someone, we just booked it &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(OK, so we never threw anything at him... we just took pictures. kidding.... sort of)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, splatter platter came in &amp; wondered what we were horrified by.  Seeing the dead man, he  then proceeded to rip off his shirt &amp;amp; revive the man back to life by cradling him in his arms  while singing you are the wind beneath my wings. When the man awoke, SP then played a mean air flute, we laughed &amp; then got a beer with Uncle Jesse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I kept tooting about how wonderful my former pets were, here are a couple of pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RtTBDpIfCAI/AAAAAAAAARk/46F1VeRLx90/s1600-h/ELMO_CLS.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RtTBDpIfCAI/AAAAAAAAARk/46F1VeRLx90/s320/ELMO_CLS.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103916546042824706" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;At the last second, Elmo batted at the lens cap cover. Made for the most adorable picture. Although, you don't get a sense of how large he really was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RtTBEZIfCDI/AAAAAAAAAR8/GujLIsw4x5I/s1600-h/Mumford.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RtTBEZIfCDI/AAAAAAAAAR8/GujLIsw4x5I/s320/Mumford.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5103916558927726642" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Mumford at Christmas. We had deer antlers too but he REALLY hated those &amp;amp; would try to eat them. Dogs apparently would rather be Santa then the reindeer... as shown here. You can see him smiling!!!&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/21837320-5887797083245219440?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=5887797083245219440' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/5887797083245219440'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/5887797083245219440'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/08/nothing-about-me-feels-32.html' title='Nothing about me feels 32...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_N0rNoj8mJ78/RtTBDpIfCAI/AAAAAAAAARk/46F1VeRLx90/s72-c/ELMO_CLS.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-4032510722196684488</id><published>2007-08-22T10:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-22T10:25:29.911-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Confirmed...</title><content type='html'>My Poet is completely crazy and Lady confirmed that she has gnomes at her work as well. She can not explain why fabric samples go missing so often. I may have forgotten to mention that they steal stuff alongside messing up your place.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-4032510722196684488?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=4032510722196684488' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/4032510722196684488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/4032510722196684488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/08/its-confirmed.html' title='It&apos;s Confirmed...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-6431368799171769175</id><published>2007-08-21T18:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-21T18:31:17.454-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bad letters'/><title type='text'>Things that Freak Me Out....</title><content type='html'>One is called Rob Loblaw...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've received 2 more letters from him since my last post &amp; my new theory is that he knows this site exists or he really is that odd. I'm at a point now where I only have an acct to have something to write about.... because I fear who it is I attract. Just today I hada  41yr old creepy friend of a friend email on facebook to tell me I could write on his wall anytime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second Letter from From Rob:&lt;br /&gt;Subject: Breakfast Club&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"YOU BURNT ME SO BAD MY LIFE IS SLOWLY PEELING AWAY.YOU HURT ME IN A WAY ONLY THE CAST FROM THE BREAKFAST CLUB COULD UNDERSTAND.  "&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Third Letter&lt;br /&gt;Subject: Things That Move Me&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"THE FIRE IN YOUR EYES SPEAKS TO ME TELLING ME TO PUT ON PYROMANIA BY DEF LEPPARD.I'LL TELL YOU ABOUT THINGS THAT MOVE ME LIKE ELEVATORS,ESCALATOTRS,ROLLERCOASTERS...ETC.WHAT KINDS OF THINGS MOVE YOU?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;uhhhhhhh..... yea.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-6431368799171769175?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=6431368799171769175' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/6431368799171769175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/6431368799171769175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/08/things-that-freak-me-out.html' title='Things that Freak Me Out....'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-1280146864464647486</id><published>2007-08-20T20:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-21T00:30:55.601-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Birthdays'/><title type='text'>Happy Birthday To Me???</title><content type='html'>For the first time in &lt;a href="http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2006/08/but-what-about-birthdays.html"&gt;four years&lt;/a&gt;, I did not get the exact same birthday card from my father.  Which  made me sad in a way as I was collecting them and in a couple of more years was planning on making a necklace.  I give him credit for still finding a card that manages to laugh AT me upon opening it but at least it isn't the same goofy tiger but rather was replaced with a fairy holding an umbrella &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(insert the annoying Rhianna song)&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, it isn't my birthday so please hold your accolades. No, tonight I went out to Surrey &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(giant hole east of  Vancouver... if you're offended too bad, it sucks)&lt;/span&gt; for dinner for my Dad's wife's birthday. Yes, the step monster got a year older but not a year closer to death by my guess. No, I think as she gets older, she gains more strength &amp; power so that one day she will be able to eat my head with one giant bite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes, every year on August 20, I trek out to Surrey to attend a birthday dinner and give her my overpriced present. This year was of no exception and I was phoned &amp;amp; informed that she would like an overpriced shampoo &amp;  conditioner she saw on Oprah that you can only find at Holt Renfrew&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt; (therefore, I've also concluded that she comes downtown several times a year and doesn't phone so I can see why I would want to buy her presents.... )&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sound bitter I know but you see, my birthday is NEXT week so my dad kills two birds with one stone when I go out for the dinner. When we arrived at my sister's place and was getting out of the car, my dad asks &lt;span style="font-weight: bold; font-style: italic;"&gt;"do you have a purse"&lt;/span&gt;.  I thought he was ensuring I took everything out of the car when he all of the sudden hands me my envelope. No pomp &amp; circumstance. No Happy Birthday just a quick shove under my nose &amp;amp; he turned and walked into the house...... thanks?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At least I knew right then and there I would be free next week because  GOD FORBID I have a birthday dinner with my father. Seeing him twice within a week. (&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;so side bar: I'm free next monday... drinks anyone?????) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; No, now I probably won't see him til around Christmas and considering I am planning on going somewhere hot this year &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;(vowed that to myself as I was trekking thru a foot of snow in Edmonton.... Seeing as I didn't get a chance to see any of the Ukranians, I didn't even get any freakin' Perogies last year... NO! this year I'm drinking Pina Colodas while tanning on a beach and I don't care who's around!).&lt;/span&gt;  So in light of said vacation plans, I probably could push off seeing him til about March.  Five bucks says I don't speak to him now til October.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-1280146864464647486?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=1280146864464647486' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/1280146864464647486'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/1280146864464647486'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/08/happy-birthday-to-me.html' title='Happy Birthday To Me???'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-1179518227861238652</id><published>2007-08-20T14:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-20T14:15:20.205-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='gnomes'/><title type='text'>They Live Among Us...</title><content type='html'>No, I'm not talking about aliens. I'm speaking of something waaaaaay more rational and believable. I'm talking about gnomes or a facsimile of.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; Yes, it's true. They live among us. I can't say exactly where as I've never seen one but I'm going to take a guess and say they're either under my bed, couch or in the corners of the closet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My only basis of reasoning is that I have NO IDEA how my apartment gets as messy as it does. I've had several theories on this. One is that I'm home more these days so therefore there is just more clutter. However, I'm home more and can clean up these messes. Then I realized that when I'm not home much, I can come home some days &amp; it looks like my apartment just threw up everywhere. So because I haven't been home, the cleaning just gets away from me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HOWEVER! if I'm NOT home, how does it get messy and that's when I realized that I must have little gnomes that live in my apartment and mess it up because god forbid, I'm a pig. It's not me nor could it possibly be me as I'm near perfect and considering my one flaw is my giant egocentric attitude, it isn't my inability to put things back in a drawer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As soon as I capture a picture of one of these suckers, I'll post it online but they're tricky. They're patient. They wait long hours for you to go to sleep &amp;amp; wait forever for you to leave home to come out &amp; destroy.  I know they are patient because in April when I wasn't sleeping, apartment was tidy... coincidence? I think not!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-1179518227861238652?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=1179518227861238652' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/1179518227861238652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/1179518227861238652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/08/blog-post.html' title='They Live Among Us...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-3265999167244527657</id><published>2007-08-16T22:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-16T22:19:37.053-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='email'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poetry'/><title type='text'>Ode to me...</title><content type='html'>Just when I didn't think there was anything that could really cheer me up these days I received this little ditty.. Normally I don't paste word for word emails &lt;a href="http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2006/03/why-are-you-trying-to-hurt-baby-jesus.html"&gt;(such a huge liar I am)&lt;/a&gt; but I felt that this sufficiently freaked and weirded me out at the same time:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A poem to me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt; YOUR SKIN IS AS TENDER AS A PERFECTLY COOKED LEG OF LAMB AT MY FAVORITE GREEK RESTAURANT.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;BLEKA-FLAMENDER ZOOZMAN,GUN-STIG NEDER TOM-TON DA -VOMPING DAS VEENER-SNAWD.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;YOUR SMILE FILLS THE ROOM IN WHITE LIGHT A WHITE LIGHT SO STRONG IT CONSUMES ME...LIKE A MAN CAUGHT IN AN AVALANCHE.......A FEMALE AVALANCHE THAT IM IN LOVE WITH AND SERENADE EVERY NIGHT.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;FREETRE-VEEKER IMPA OODLE VEEP-VEEP DAS VEENER-SNAWD.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;THE WIND BLEW LIKE A MILLION FANS FILLING AN ITALIAN SOCCER STADIUM.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;SNEW-KEY FIN-SUM DA BUN-TON EZLAR DA SARKEY-SNEWD.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;THE DAY WAS LIKE THE NIGHT ONLY WITH LIGHT AND THE NIGHT WAS LIKE THE DAY ONLY WITHOUT LIGHT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;Now, I don't know what that is in the italics (I've made this easier to read than what I got as it was one giant run on lump in my inbox). I would assume it is a different language only no language I've ever seen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm open to interpretations.... go for it&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-3265999167244527657?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=3265999167244527657' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/3265999167244527657'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/3265999167244527657'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/08/ode-to-me.html' title='Ode to me...'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21837320.post-255373916748486888</id><published>2007-08-16T12:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-08-16T12:42:17.918-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I don't know anymore....</title><content type='html'>I actually woke up this morning and decided that I didn't want to write in this ever again.  I have felt this has become utterly pointless &amp; lame and actually was resenting people all together... as the day wore on, the anger receded mostly because of recent events.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A friend of ours (me, brutal, bell, jammer, watson, tito, dark etc...), suddenly and tragically died on Friday while Houseboating.  We're awaiting the autopsy results to know for sure what happened. While dealing with all the tragedy of Jimmy pop, I found out my friend's dad passed away yesterday. I adored him. Very sweet man and very kind. My darling friend is not doing well in all of this chaos. It was expected to happen this week as he had stomache cancer and was really just hanging on at this point. I don't know if the double dose of bad news is hitting me hard or his passing is making me remember how hard it was when my own mother died.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Right now, I'm not finding much funny these days, I hope things will get better &amp;amp; I hope the pain is getting a little less strong for my dear friends. I wish I could be out there in Alberta with you tomorrow but unfortunately I can't be everywhere. My heart will be with you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/21837320-255373916748486888?l=busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='https://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=21837320&amp;postID=255373916748486888' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/255373916748486888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/21837320/posts/default/255373916748486888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://busydoingnuthin.blogspot.com/2007/08/i-dont-know-anymore.html' title='I don&apos;t know anymore....'/><author><name>Busy_Doing_Nuthin'</name><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:extendedProperty xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' name='OpenSocialUserId' value='01964208261519419378'/></author><thr:total xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'>0</thr:total></entry></feed>