<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750</id><updated>2011-07-08T02:57:33.433-07:00</updated><title type='text'>You Laugh Because It's True</title><subtitle type='html'>Go bang like you've never bung before.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>174</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8143166500121249010</id><published>2009-07-15T19:54:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-15T20:04:03.292-07:00</updated><title type='text'>RobPat Wednesday</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Well, my dream came true today. I saw Robert Pattinson in person. He was gorgeous ladies (and gents). His hair was glorious. He really does shimmer and unicorns do surround him.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I also learned an important lesson. I learned that pretending to be an extra to learn film locations does a body good. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And I learned yet another lesson. I learned that you're never too old or too busy to stop life and do something ridiculous, like stalk one of the hottest celebs known to man. I hope that when I'm 60, I'll still run across town for a glimpse of some hot celeb ass. God, I'm awesome. So are You.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 452px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 678px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://socialitelife.celebuzz.com/bfm_gallery/2009/07/robert_pattinson_on_remember_me_set_-_july_2_2009/gallery_main/gallery_main-robert-pattinson-remember-me-bike-07022009-05.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8143166500121249010?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8143166500121249010/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8143166500121249010&amp;isPopup=true' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8143166500121249010'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8143166500121249010'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/07/robpat-wednesday.html' title='RobPat Wednesday'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1961785305495213232</id><published>2009-06-13T09:01:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-13T09:10:45.544-07:00</updated><title type='text'>In that kind of mood . . .</title><content type='html'>I love this site called "&lt;a href="http://dearoldlove.tumblr.com/"&gt;Dear Old Love&lt;/a&gt;."  It has little short notes about love, and you can almost relate to all of them in some way.  When I'm all nostalgic, I like to read them.  Anyways, I'm sick of seeing that damn eye tat thing every time I open my blog and decide not to write.  So enjoy some of my favorite Dear Old Loves (disclaimer: I mean favorite on the 1st few pages b/c I was not going to read these all day) . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I punched you in the head to pay you back for the hundreds of times you punched me in the heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pretend I hate you when you ask me for girl advice.  But secretly I love that I still know you better than any of them will.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I had known that I was going to meet the woman you would leave me for when we stopped at your office, I would have put on make-up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You smiled at me and flipped me off before speeding away.  I know it's your way of telling me you'll always care.  [Hysterical]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1961785305495213232?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1961785305495213232/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1961785305495213232&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1961785305495213232'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1961785305495213232'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-that-kind-of-mood.html' title='In that kind of mood . . .'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-6433802711887279899</id><published>2009-04-08T19:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-08T20:05:49.098-07:00</updated><title type='text'>This has to be the most painful thing - ever</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I've been toying with the idea of getting a tattoo for some time. Therefore, I've been really thinking about what I want to get. Tonight I stopped by a tat parlor and checked out their pictures/samples and got some ideas. When I got home to do some &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt; research, I came across the MOST DISTURBING thing ever -- Eyeball. Tattoos. Yes, on your &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;friggin&lt;/span&gt;' eyeball. Um, no.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 450px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 400px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.crunchgear.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/02/eyeball-tattoo.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Now not only are your eyes probably watering, but you might be thinking the same thing I thought when I first saw this (other than who in their right mind would do this?) -- What is up w/ the bright ass smurf blue? Well, I found this &lt;a href="http://www.thesun.co.uk/sol/homepage/features/article853274.ece"&gt;article &lt;/a&gt;that has a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;slideshow&lt;/span&gt; link where you can see the finished product. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Did you look?&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Yep, just a bright as blue eyeball. Not that creative. Not awesome. I mean if you're going to do this, might as well get something sweet - like an actual drawing of something on your eye. A big smurf eye is lame. And I'll be honest - I'm a little pissed at this guy. I mean, I winced when I saw the picture, but then, it wasn't even worth seeing. Thanks for nothing. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-6433802711887279899?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/6433802711887279899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=6433802711887279899&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6433802711887279899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6433802711887279899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/04/this-has-to-be-most-painful-thing-ever.html' title='This has to be the most painful thing - ever'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1928315309225683582</id><published>2009-04-07T18:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-07T18:41:38.715-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I need to be stopped</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I was in the NBC store the other day w/ the fam, and I discovered that they have a Tim Riggins' #33 jersey. For a split second, I almost purchased it. Then, I realized that I was holding a fictional character's jersey, and if I did go through with the purchase, I'm pretty sure I would have reached an all new low. What is happening to me? Are the men in my real life so unappealing to me right now that I would rather wear the jersey of a hot dude on TV? Or am I so scared of commitment (again) that I am running away from real intimacy and focusing my crushing on a hot dude on TV? Or could it just be that I'm not that sad, and he really is such a ridiculously hot dude on TV that it's somewhat okay to contemplate the purchase? Please, please, please be the latter. . . because I still really want the jersey.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 250px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 326px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.derok.net/images/entertainment/taylor%20kitsch%20friday%20night%20lights.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1928315309225683582?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1928315309225683582/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1928315309225683582&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1928315309225683582'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1928315309225683582'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/04/i-need-to-be-stopped.html' title='I need to be stopped'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-6280723936858085188</id><published>2009-03-31T18:20:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T18:31:43.360-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I hate you, PAM</title><content type='html'>First, and most importantly, there will be a future post dedicated to the hotness that is Tim Riggins on FNL, but something came up that needs posting -- immediately.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok. . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm on staycay w/ the fam this week.  It's nice.  For the past THREE MONTHS, I have been douchebag free at work.  Meaning -- I have not worked w/ some super annoying Passive Aggressive Movers, &lt;em&gt;aka&lt;/em&gt; PAMs.  So when setting out for work, I let all of the people I have been working with know that I'm out but still very available via email.  Since I'm so available on email, I did not put out an "out of office" message.  My bad, I admit, but I had not heard from other humans at that place for months.  I was rushed on my way out, and it slipped my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, b/c of my "failure" to do this, the. world. has. ended. at. the. shithole. i. call. work.  Today, I see I have a voicemail from PAM.  I ignore it.  Then, I get an email from PAM asking me to do research.  I respond, promptly -- Sorry, I'm out of the office, blah blah blah.  I get this gem back:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I'll get someone else to do the research because we need it done in the next few days.  I waited to hear back from you to give you the first opportunity.  You should add an 'out of office' message to your email and change your voicemail message so people know you're out.  Have a nice break."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OH MY GOD.  Can you get any more passive aggressive?  Give me the first opt, huh?  Um, you basically kicked me off your case months ago.  Change my voicemail?  NO ONE has ever done that.  I really love the "have a nice break" too.  I'm sure you reeaaallly mean that one.  Why not just say what you want to say:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"You suck because you did not put an out of office message.  I will now never think of you again for an assignment, so have fun looking for a new job since I have blacklisted you, bitch.  I hope your break sucks and you get a flesh-eating virus b/c I wasted a few hours on this research waiting for your damn reply.  Die in hell.  Thanks!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would respect that.  I would want to work for that.  But no, I'm stuck w/ PAM --  that ole bitch.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-6280723936858085188?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/6280723936858085188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=6280723936858085188&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6280723936858085188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6280723936858085188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/03/i-hate-you-pam.html' title='I hate you, PAM'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1723668456826161546</id><published>2009-03-28T06:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-28T06:35:46.983-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Whatevs, You'd Still Hit It</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.celebtv.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/robert_pattinson_gq.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 350px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 472px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.celebtv.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/03/robert_pattinson_gq.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Given my love for RobPat, naturally, everyone is asking me how I feel about his stinky ass hair. You'd think people would be more concerned with my cougar-self crushing on a teen heartthrob, but that's a different post on how I reject adulthood altogether. Back to the point. . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, it's foul that he won't wash his hair, but WHO CARES? I'd still do it. And be honest, so would you. So. Would. You.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p.s. I am entirely aware that his face is actually kind of screwed.  It looks like someone pushed his nose over.  Still those eyes.  Those eyes, people. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;COMING UP NEXT:&lt;/em&gt; Post on my other ridiculous obsession - Riggins.  FNL.  Refuse to call him by real name.  It's terrible.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1723668456826161546?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1723668456826161546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1723668456826161546&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1723668456826161546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1723668456826161546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/03/whatevs-youd-still-hit-it.html' title='Whatevs, You&apos;d Still Hit It'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1938999475670729488</id><published>2009-03-23T19:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T19:28:43.270-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Operation Barista: Day 1</title><content type='html'>I had been really good at lunch.  Instead of the soup in a giant bread bowl that I love, I opted for a cup of soup and Greek salad.  I resisted the cream cheese and blueberry croissant, the marshmallow brownie, the cherry cheesecake.  But an hour after I returned from lunch a chocolate craving overwhelmed me.  This was a new feeling for me.  I'm not the chocolate girl usually.  But today I couldn't help but scarf the mini-Butterfinger in my desk and then steal a bite-sized Milky Way from my co-worker.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not enough.  I could not get chocolate out of my brain.  More specifically, I could not stop thinking about the chocolate-caramel-covered pretzels at the coffee shop across the street.  Could. Not. Stop.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fuck it. Grabbed my purse, nearly sprinted to the coffee shop for my fix.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I arrived I realized it wasn’t coffee or the pretzels that the fates had sent me for.  No. It was The Barista.  I watched out of the corner of my eye as he prepared the iced latte for the bearded dude in front of me.  Unlike most of the people around here, he did not seem to be a caricature, rather, he seemed like an actual, cool person --  The Barista, not the bearded dude.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then it was my turn.  I didn’t even realize what I was doing until time was up. Witty banter, flirtatious grins, boob flash? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was over too soon.  The decaf skinny mocha did not take nearly long enough to prepare. We had so much more to discuss, so many more jokes to crack.  So many more times for me to undress him with my eyes.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had used my “Perks Card” to pay, and after our shared moment, I felt like I needed to tip. I paused as I was about to walk away, while he helped the next customer.  Crap. Only a $20 bill! Couldn’t do it.  For that much money, I'm pretty sure it would be like prostitution after all the things he did to me in my mind.  I looked up sheepishly. He was watching me, but I don’t think it was for the tip.  He knew what was I was thinking -- at least that's what I choose to believe.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I flashed the smile (not the tatas) again, “I’ll see you later.”  “See ya,” he smiled back. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I have to go back to the coffee shop every. Single. Day.  Hot Barista, you will be mine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1938999475670729488?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1938999475670729488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1938999475670729488&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1938999475670729488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1938999475670729488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/03/operation-barista-day-1.html' title='Operation Barista: Day 1'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-4653592202325756087</id><published>2009-03-11T16:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-11T17:03:42.019-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Love,</title><content type='html'>I have the flu today, so I stayed home from work.  There's nothing like laying around, being sick and feeling sorry for yourself to make you remember the "good times."  So I thought of you today.  A lot.  And it really has bothered me.  I no longer have contact with you.  Haven't for awhile.  I have no way in getting in touch with you, and I'm not sure that I ever really did.  So in the hopes you come across this blog, I wanted to just say "I miss you."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do.  I really miss you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a time in my life where all you did was make me smile.  Your wit, your charm.  A time when I had you to myself.  Well, a few others knew about you.  That's when it was good.  Then, as time went on, I wasn't afraid to let others know how I felt about you.  That I loved you.  That you made me happy, despite some people's disbelief that you ever could.  I fought them.  I denied their negativity that it would ever work.  I told them that you would stick around to make me happy for many years.  That you were worth keeping.  So many people didn't believe in you.  I did.  In fact, I stuck by you in the good times and the bad.  I was always faithful.  I always believed that even when you were awful, you would come back to me.  And sometimes you did.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then you went away.  I didn't even really have a warning.  Well, that's not true.  I saw it coming for awhile, but I was in denial.  I guess I always knew our love would be canceled eventually.  When it happened, I talked about it a lot.  I acted like I didn't really care though.  That it didn't hurt me that much.  That I wouldn't miss you.  That deep down, you really weren't that good enough for me, and I was just "in love."  Jaded.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As time went by and continues to go by, it's no longer really acceptable for me to talk about you.  The excitement of seeing you has really worn off.  In fact, there are days I don't think of you at all.  I long for those days.  People think it's pathetic that I even still think of you from time to time though.  But lying on my couch today, I did think of you.  I did miss you.  I wish you were here with me again.  To wrap me up in your friendship, warmth, understanding -- to comfort me in my time of sickness.  I just wish I had all of you again.  All two seasons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will forever be yours October Road.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-4653592202325756087?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/4653592202325756087/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=4653592202325756087&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4653592202325756087'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4653592202325756087'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/03/dear-love.html' title='Dear Love,'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1685568060441677765</id><published>2009-03-09T21:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T21:05:58.035-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A reason to wake up in the morning</title><content type='html'>&lt;object type="application/x-shockwave-flash" data="http://widgets.nbc.com/o/4727a250e66f9723/49b5e69582b7f990/49b3bb504dd0f068/5ebd44b5/-cpid/dd56c0f9f26fa3f6" id="W4727a250e66f972349b5e69582b7f990" width="384" height="283"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://widgets.nbc.com/o/4727a250e66f9723/49b5e69582b7f990/49b3bb504dd0f068/5ebd44b5/-cpid/dd56c0f9f26fa3f6" /&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent" /&gt;&lt;param name="allowNetworking" value="all" /&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dear God.  I have always found this man unbelievably attractive, but I had kind of forgotten him as of late.  Never. Again.  His body and smile are amazing.  He has given me a reason to post again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1685568060441677765?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1685568060441677765/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1685568060441677765&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1685568060441677765'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1685568060441677765'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/03/reason-to-wake-up-in-morning.html' title='A reason to wake up in the morning'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7876050681229439845</id><published>2009-02-13T16:41:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-13T16:48:47.508-08:00</updated><title type='text'>For the love of God and my eyes . . .</title><content type='html'>Please world - STOP showing the picture of OctoMom's pregnant stomach.  It is so gross.  I'm not even commenting on the fact she got herself pregnant with eight babies or that she's on welfare or whatever.  I don't care.  I only care about never seeing those pictures again.  It's insane.  When I see those pictures, I feel sick.  I can't help it.  If that makes me a bad person, I don't care.  Don't. care.  They are gross. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I can't seem to escape them.  I mean, every celeb gossip site has them up, obviously.  So I had to avoid the internet today.  Because let's be honest, I really only read those sites.  Now, I come home from work and turn on the TV - and boom, the news is showing them, celeb gossip TV shows are showing them.  I'm pretty sure I could turn it to any channel right now and I'd somehow see these awful pictures.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just stop.  I can't take them anymore.  Thanks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7876050681229439845?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7876050681229439845/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7876050681229439845&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7876050681229439845'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7876050681229439845'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/02/for-love-of-god-and-my-eyes.html' title='For the love of God and my eyes . . .'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-5904405830287625456</id><published>2009-02-12T18:29:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-12T18:38:22.860-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tipsy posting is fun</title><content type='html'>So my lack of drinking as of late has caused me to get tipsy after TWO beers people.  TWO.  Lame.  But good for you - why?  I'll post ridiculousness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First thing, B and I were just thinking of our old neighbors and how we always knew when they were having sex.  How would we know? Would we hear them?  No.  Instead, they would always close their blinds, and then about 20 minutes later, open then while being half naked.  Those neighbors have long since moved away, and thank god -- only b/c hot guy has moved in.  Dave.  He's hot, has a great dog and is a MURSE.  So awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Second thing, I'm hard core crushing on a boy.  Hard. core.  I can't even speak around him.  Ok that's a lie.  I can't shut up around him.  What I mean is I can't even speak in normal terms around him.  I literally say things that are so ridiculous that I am in awe of myself.  I have not felt like this about anyone in forever, if ever.  This guy is objectively hot to me.  And then, you get to know him, his personality is even hot.  I mean, I'm used to having to wait to find someone hot once they make me laugh.  Anyway - this guy has it all.  So I need to flirting tips.  I'm normally pretty good at it, but not this time.  I'm a 12-year old.  I'm nervous, clammy, talkative and absolutely giddy.  God, I want to do him.  I'll keep you posted.  When flirting happens, I will report back in. . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Till then - I think I need more beer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-5904405830287625456?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/5904405830287625456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=5904405830287625456&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5904405830287625456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5904405830287625456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/02/tipsy-posting-is-fun.html' title='Tipsy posting is fun'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-6517992929740981811</id><published>2009-02-10T20:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-02-10T20:24:39.755-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Random Things</title><content type='html'>So I have wanted to post for awhile now, but haven't found anything worth dedicating a whole post to . . . so I'll just rant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Please people STOP talking about Phelpsie and the pot. Who cares anymore. On that note, please also stop about Chris Brown. I'm so sick of reading about it. I don't even feel bad for Rihanna. I don't care how "screwed" he is.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. I realize I have a new type of guy. The tall guy. Ever since ever, I have always favored the average man - 5'9" was perfect. Now, no, I want the 6'2" to 6'4" man. This is incredibly boring for you, the reader, but for me - it's like a whole new world now. I mean, there are men at work that I never noticed before. And they are cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Now, I'll leave you with my new obsession. The E*trade baby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="295" width="480"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/U8Ev5HgGACg&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;fs=1"&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/U8Ev5HgGACg&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll get better at this posting again.  Promise.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-6517992929740981811?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/6517992929740981811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=6517992929740981811&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6517992929740981811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6517992929740981811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2009/02/random-things.html' title='Random Things'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-4364854941127262093</id><published>2008-12-02T18:11:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-12-02T18:33:22.228-08:00</updated><title type='text'>A Love Letter</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://i302.photobucket.com/albums/nn113/robertpattinsonismyhero/twilight-2_large.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 480px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 669px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://i302.photobucket.com/albums/nn113/robertpattinsonismyhero/twilight-2_large.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Dear Robert Pattinson (aka Edward), &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I am writing you so that I can thank you. Your ridiculous hair, brooding stares, terribly pale skin, plump red lips, and amazing jaw line have made me a tween all over again. I saw you in &lt;em&gt;Twilight&lt;/em&gt;, and I fell in love. My instant reaction, other than wanting to rip your clothes off, was to immediately purchase everything &lt;em&gt;Twilight&lt;/em&gt; related. I want to buy posters of your face to wallpaper my room. I have even considered buying lunch boxes, giant pins for a jean jacket buried in the back of my closet, sheets, dolls, magnets, and trapper keeper folders of you -- all so I can see you everywhere I go. I don't even know if these items exist, but the last time I had this urge was circa 1989 for Joey McIntyre paraphrenalia, and so I daydream of buying similar items of your face now. I have even considered purchasing the entire &lt;em&gt;Twilight&lt;/em&gt; soundtrack so I could hear your song, and I'll admit, I don't even know if I like it. But it's you. It's nice to break-up my adult life with these little girl fantasies. You remind me of a simpler time, and the thoughts I have of you are so reminiscent of never-ending days of doodling my initials with my boy crush of the hour's initials. (RED + RP 4-EVA!) The only difference between my thoughts of you and my thoughts as an actual tween is that my fantasies of you sometimes include sex. Super hot sex.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Love always, &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Your #1 Fan&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-4364854941127262093?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/4364854941127262093/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=4364854941127262093&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4364854941127262093'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4364854941127262093'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/12/love-letter.html' title='A Love Letter'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8069844255465343586</id><published>2008-11-15T12:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-11-15T12:27:06.536-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Vacation Plans 2009</title><content type='html'>So I've been trying to figure out where I want to vacay next year.  I've had my heart set on Hawaii for some time, and I'm sure I'll still go.  BUT -- the other day, H and I came across this place in France:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DOUCY-EN-BAUGES&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I must, must, must go to this place.  Why? Have you not figured it out?  The name of the place is basically Douche Bag.  Or Douche-y Bag.  Hilarious.  This is the most phenomenal geographic find ever for me.  I love the words "douche bag." Or "D-bag," "douche-pon," "douche-cape," etc.  It's perfect for my 14-year old mentality.  Yes!  Who else wants to travel there with me?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8069844255465343586?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8069844255465343586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8069844255465343586&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8069844255465343586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8069844255465343586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/11/vacation-plans-2009.html' title='Vacation Plans 2009'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-6095699111587956766</id><published>2008-10-20T21:05:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-20T21:08:11.839-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Worst. Analogy. Ever.</title><content type='html'>So B and I are watching OTH - and an ex-heroin addict who is a bartender is on the show.  Here's how the conversation went down:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;B: "Wait, don't you think that being a bartender is a terrible job for an ex-addict?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me: "Yeah, that's like becoming a stripper to get over your prostitution addiction." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;B: "Who's addicted to prostitution?"&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-6095699111587956766?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/6095699111587956766/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=6095699111587956766&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6095699111587956766'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6095699111587956766'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/10/worst-analogy-ever.html' title='Worst. Analogy. Ever.'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-805459637437791400</id><published>2008-10-08T20:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T19:16:13.641-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My daily dilemma</title><content type='html'>Sidenote to my readers: So clearly I took the summer off from blogging. Maybe I'm back . . . maybe I'm not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's dilemma:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My good friend Niki asked me to post this tale, and well, what Niki wants, she almost always gets! This time is no exception. Anyways . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Allow me to explain the set up of my work restroom. These are important details, so pay attention. There are six (6) stalls. Each has a role, you could say. Well, I walked into the bathroom to pee - yes we're being this honest - and my pee stall was occupied. Pee stall is stall #1 typically. I once read somewhere that the first stall in a restroom is usually the cleanest because it is used less. That stuck with me, no matter how ridiculous it most likely is. But now my favorite stall was occupied.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I couldn't use stall #2 b/c that is just plain creepy to pee in the stall right next to someone else doing their business, when you are the only two women in there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, stall #3 was and always is out of the question. Whenever you sit on this toilet, it sounds like the toilet is about to rip out of the wall. This is disturbing on many levels, because last thing I want is my pants around my knees, in the process of alleviating my bladder when boom--toilet falls off wall, water and pee go everywhere, and I bust through the door with my ass in the air. AT WORK. Let's not forget that my self-esteem plummets when you sit on a toilet and it fucking creaks. How fat do you have to be for your toilet to yell out in pain? No. I will pee in the sink before using stall #3.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go into stall #4. This could be the one--a good option. Far enough away from occupied #1. Some whore peed all over the lid. Nice one. I have a feeling it's one of those bitches who insist on using the paper bib for the seat every time, and even then, she hovers over the stool. Now she's obsessed with not sharing germs, but has absolutely no qualms about pissing all over the toilet lid so NO ONE ELSE CAN USE THAT. Hate her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now we're at #5 - the handicap stall. No one and I mean no one uses the big stall. Don't know why--but it just doesn't happen. I cannot be the first to pop this stall's cherry. Not to mention that using the big stall makes you feel fat too. I mean--what am I simply too giant for the normal people stall that I would need the big stall so my fat ass doesn't hit the sides of the wall? No - I will not have that belief floating through other people's minds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That leaves us at the last stall, #6. The shit stall. Everyone knows that you only go into that stall to poop. I'm not making this up. How do I know for sure--it's the ONLY STALL with a can of spray in it. We all know what you do when you're in there. There's nothing worse than using the poop stall and not pooping. If anyone else sees you in there, she will automatically assume you are dropping a deuce. You can't then explain "no no, I was just peeing, I promise." Yeah, right. If the situation was reversed, I'd take one look at you, hold my breath and run out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here's the dilemma - where do I pee? Do I wait outside or pretend to do my hair, waiting for #1 to open? Or do I bite the bullet and use one of the other horrible alternate stalls? I'll never tell.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-805459637437791400?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/805459637437791400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=805459637437791400&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/805459637437791400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/805459637437791400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-daily-dilemma.html' title='My daily dilemma'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-5976399380245987847</id><published>2008-07-16T21:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-16T21:24:55.256-07:00</updated><title type='text'>He can lay me down on a bed of roses . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://www.how2blogger.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/bon-jovi.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.how2blogger.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/11/bon-jovi.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Lay his hands on me. &lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Make a memory with me. . . . Always.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'll be there for you, too.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ok any more bad Bon Jovi puns? Don't like them - I don't care. I saw this band, more importantly, this man, perform in Central Park last weekend. For the first time in a very VERY very long time, I was speechless. Dear God - he's hot. So my 14-year old self is dedicating a post to my new "slippery when" wet dream man-- Ok I'll stop.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.boardwalkhall.com/images/press/Bon-Jovi_big.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(While this is clearly an older picture - he's still a huge fan of the open hand, fingers spread, arm in the air move.  And I'm so very glad--he's super hot!)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.inentertainment.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2008/04/bon-jovi-coming-to-central-park.jpg" border="0" /&gt; &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;(This pic may actually be from our concert.  His 1st shirt was very similar to this.  So tight, open in all the right places.  His 2nd wardrobe change was into a super hot, button-down red shirt though.  He was truly a work of art.  Kate - these pics don't do justice.  Trust me on this - you would have loved him.  More than Pacey.  I'm that confident.  Note the arm move here as well.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-5976399380245987847?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/5976399380245987847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=5976399380245987847&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5976399380245987847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5976399380245987847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/07/he-can-lay-me-down-on-bed-of-roses.html' title='He can lay me down on a bed of roses . . .'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-2761936006599056746</id><published>2008-07-01T22:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-07-01T22:14:15.557-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid Bitch Lesson #4</title><content type='html'>That's right, get out your note taking materials - you're about to be schooled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the other night, B and I went to a comedy show.  We were sandwiched between the stage and this god-awful couple.  (Sidenote: sitting next to the stage ended up being Awe---some!)  Anyways . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Since we were humping the stage, of course, each comedian talked to us.  Now, it's pretty simple - you voluntarily came to a comedy show, you sit up front, you can just about bet your life that they will talk to you - GO ALONG WITH THE SHOW.  Don't try to be the show.  You're not funny.  You're not a comedic writer.  You may watch 30 Rock every Thursday, but that does NOT make you Tine Fey.  Shut the hell up and give the one line response the entire room expects, so the show can go on. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simple rules, right? Common sense you could say.  But no - this stupid bitch, who had a perm mind you, had to go against the grain.  She had a smart ass thing to say about everyone, and in response.  Example - rando comedian talking about how girls never have to pay anything.  Points in our direction - fully expecting us to nod in agreement.  This bitch goes "What's a check?"  He didn't hear.  She yells louder "What's a check?"  I'm pretty sure she had to yell it again.  Now I and the others sitting around you had to hear her terrible ass joke multiple times.  NOT AWESOME.  But the best . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So this one comedian did some joke about a blow job.  To simulate said act, he put his mouth on the microphone.  Granted this is gross - but it is not your job, as an audience member, to point that out.  We get it.  So when the host takes back the mic, this dumb whore (sidenote: hmm, could there be dumb whore lessons?) yells out: "Ew. That was in his mouth."  She cannot get over the fact that this guy was now talking into a mic that was in the previous dude's mouth.  Again - not your job to scream this over and over.  She can't let it go.  She keeps talking about it.  So much so, the host dude has to address her.  She makes her point for the 90th time: "What has been in his mouth is now in yours."  Yes, for real she said this. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This host dude in his moment of glory goes: "Well the pillow you're leaning on has other people's farts on it, and it's now on your back."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stupid Bitch: "What was in his mouth is now on your mouth."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Host Dude: "What was in someone's ass is now on your back."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Host Dude - 1     Stupid Bitch - 0&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stupid Bitches never win.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-2761936006599056746?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/2761936006599056746/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=2761936006599056746&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2761936006599056746'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2761936006599056746'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/07/stupid-bitch-lesson-4.html' title='Stupid Bitch Lesson #4'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-3188526063566544899</id><published>2008-06-14T20:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-14T20:43:42.061-07:00</updated><title type='text'>God Bless America!</title><content type='html'>Well I completed my first week back home. I promise I've had no fewer than 78 cups of ice water. Glorious! It's been amazing watching TV. As a matter of fact, I'm watching &lt;em&gt;The Soup&lt;/em&gt; right now and they're talking about bird-poop facials. They cost $180. Only in sweet sweet America can you get that and get that on TV. Glorious! Best part--being in my own bed and seeing all my friends again. But who cares about gushy crap, right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for my first post in quite awhile, I actually wanted to discuss this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="344" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/IBUuk_xOV5w&amp;amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/IBUuk_xOV5w&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OMG--Corey Haim is so fat.  Now, I knew that he got chunky b/c he was all chubs in his cameo in David Spade's movie &lt;em&gt;Dickie Roberts&lt;/em&gt;.  But for reals, he doesn't even look like himself.  I'm pretty sure he has actually eaten Corey Feldman.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wanted him to be my boyfriend so badly after watching &lt;em&gt;The Lost Boys&lt;/em&gt; for the first time.  I mean in the 80s, every pre-teen girl wanted him.  Well, thank god for "unanswered prayers" and Garth Brooks.  If I would've actually married him, I'd not be having sex with my disgusto hub with not awesome wrist bands.  And I personally love the what I'm pretty sure is denim shirt, w/ one side of the collar completely tucked in.  Oooh, the topper--he has a girlfriend STILL?  I want to see this girl/rhino that I'm pretty sure she has to be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok--gotta go now.  Now I'm watching&lt;em&gt; Walking Tall, &lt;/em&gt;and you all know how I think The Rock is one of the sexiest men alive.  Well, the kissing/sex scene is about to come up.  HOTTEST, KISS. EVER.  OH. MY. GOD.  I purchased the movie just for this scene.  I have some constant rewinded to do.  I heart DVR.  And America.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;**Note: I have chosen to leave the many mistakes in the last paragraph b/c I was typing and watching the kissing scene at the same time.  You can see how distracted I was.  I'm awesome.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-3188526063566544899?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/3188526063566544899/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=3188526063566544899&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3188526063566544899'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3188526063566544899'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/06/god-bless-america.html' title='God Bless America!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-844454424583827122</id><published>2008-06-09T06:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-06-09T06:27:15.208-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tagged?!?</title><content type='html'>So I checked Nik's blog this morning, and she had this tag thing, and what I think was a dare for me to finish it too? I could be wrong--it just said "Red it's all you" basically, but I take that as a double dare, b/c I can. So here goes, Nik--all for you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tag Line&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Maybe I should&lt;/strong&gt;. . .tear myself from the couch to unpack and go to the grocery store.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I love the smell of&lt;/strong&gt;. . .clean laundry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;People would say that I&lt;/strong&gt;. . .am mean but funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I don’t understand why&lt;/strong&gt;. . .airplanes fly.  Seriously--blows my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;When I wake up in the morning&lt;/strong&gt;. . .I have to pee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I lost my willpower to&lt;/strong&gt;. . .argue with people who always think they are right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Life is&lt;/strong&gt;. . .good since I'm back home!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;My past made me&lt;/strong&gt;. . .a fighter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I get annoyed when I&lt;/strong&gt;. . .am around rude people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Parties are not a good time to&lt;/strong&gt;. . .get gas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Dogs are&lt;/strong&gt;. . .animals I hope to have some day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Cats are&lt;/strong&gt;. . .are fantastic despite what most people say.  I'm sure I'll have 30 some day.  Tear.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Tomorrow is&lt;/strong&gt;. . .another vacation day home from work.  Swweeett!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I have low tolerance for&lt;/strong&gt;. . .people who pretend to be your friend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I’m totally terrified of&lt;/strong&gt;. . .Manbearpig.  No really, she scares me on a lot of levels right now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I wonder why I thought my life would be&lt;/strong&gt;. . .perfect.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I always knew I would&lt;/strong&gt;. . .be awesome!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Never in my life have I&lt;/strong&gt;. . .smoked pot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;High school was&lt;/strong&gt;. . .just as it should've been-great and horrible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;When I’m nervous&lt;/strong&gt;. . .I either ramble or don't talk at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;One time at a family gathering&lt;/strong&gt;. . .my grandma walked by my sister and farted right in her face.  It was great!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Take my advice&lt;/strong&gt;. . .stop worrying about what other people think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Making my bed&lt;/strong&gt;. . .only happens when my Mom is coming into town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I'm almost always&lt;/strong&gt;. . .daydreaming.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I’m addicted to&lt;/strong&gt;. . .retail therapy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;I want someone to&lt;/strong&gt;. . .give me a massage.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-844454424583827122?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/844454424583827122/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=844454424583827122&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/844454424583827122'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/844454424583827122'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/06/tagged.html' title='Tagged?!?'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8047377425147931535</id><published>2008-05-28T02:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-28T02:33:54.611-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No Way This Just Happened!</title><content type='html'>We are seriously taking a 5 minute break to chat and rest our eyes.  The Dragon comes in and says:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"No talking you guys.  Seriously.  Get back to work."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who the fuck does the Dragon think she is?  Oh that's right, she's the Dragon.  And we're apparently 5 years old with no minds of our own. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes that's it.  Back to work.  Must work.  No talk.  No laughter.  No joy.  No hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't wait for Manbearpig to eat the Dragon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8047377425147931535?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8047377425147931535/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8047377425147931535&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8047377425147931535'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8047377425147931535'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/no-way-this-just-happened.html' title='No Way This Just Happened!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7196393356577571151</id><published>2008-05-26T04:36:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-26T04:36:47.549-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Coming Soon - Manbearpig</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/zfGmf8L3-z0&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/zfGmf8L3-z0&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's creepy how accurate this video is for my life right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7196393356577571151?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7196393356577571151/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7196393356577571151&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7196393356577571151'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7196393356577571151'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/coming-soon-manbearpig.html' title='Coming Soon - Manbearpig'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-5259818408016830146</id><published>2008-05-23T09:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-23T09:16:50.683-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Aquatus</title><content type='html'>So I got a little head cold, which is actually the worst.  I mean, I'm here.  I had to take a trip to the pharmacy.  Scary.  The lady barely spoke English, so I had to act out my symptoms in order for her to find me what I need.  But that's not the point.  The point is--I saw the scariest contraption ever in this pharmacy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They had a cut-out stand advertisement ditty.  It had attached to it a metal faucet, with a shower hose, that DID NOT connect to a shower head.  No my friends, it attached to a medical device that can only be best described as a "power doucher."  It was clear and shaped liked a skinny, long dong.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What the hell is this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the background of the advertisement was the torso of a naked women, with her hands over her va-jay-jay.  WHAT?!?!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Clearly this is some sort of horrible tool, or excellent tool.  Who knows? So of course, I blackberry myself the name of the instrument with its tag line:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Aquatus - Tiszta erzes ott is&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I immediately google this crazy thing upon return.  However, I'm dumb and can't find an English translation.  But when you hit "images" on google, medical diagrams of the vaginal canal appear.  Shocker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I simply must know what has to be wrong w/ you, for a doctor to tell you that you need to install a power doucher/dildo/torture device onto your shower head.  For reals?  But--what if this thing is AWWWW-ESOME?  I need to know--does it shoot something up there? Just water? Medicine? Does it vibrate?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Are these typical and just new to me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way--scary.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-5259818408016830146?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/5259818408016830146/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=5259818408016830146&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5259818408016830146'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5259818408016830146'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/aquatus.html' title='Aquatus'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8353008447054531912</id><published>2008-05-20T15:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-20T15:39:53.024-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Wrong Stuff--sorry :(</title><content type='html'>So everyone knows that I flew across the world to see NKOTB. Well, my NKOTB experience did not fail, even though the Live Performance was Ter-rraaa-ble. But quick recap of my once in a lifetime moment. Very quick: It was raining. We had signs. One sign said "I'm recently single and I have the Right Stuff." Genius sign Heather. There were a crap-ton of people there. We couldn't really see them. We heard them rehearse for a glorious hour. It was awesome! I forgot about the song "Tonight." Heard it again-fell in love with it again. I still wanna do Joey.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok now onto the Live Performance - before I begin my critiques, I mean thoughts, please note that these boys are definitely now hot grown men.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/ec-sOHQIM4E&amp;amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/ec-sOHQIM4E&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Them in suits--cute.  Trying to be all grown up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Boo to the Today Show-way too many audience shots.  Terrible. F.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Ok-could the sound be any worse?  I mean--Jordan is screaming like it's karaoke.  Donnie is ridiculously loud.  It was A-W-F-U-L.  I particularly love it when they start laughing at one point.  Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. I remember their dance moves being somewhat "elementary."  But seriously - a paralyzed person could learn and do these moves in about 3 minutes.  Are they that old?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Related to comment #2 - I hate the Today Show for cutting to the damn audience during the "old" Right Stuff dance move.  We all know that dance.  We all still do that dance.  Why wouldn't you show it?  Die camera man.  But--NKOTB--why on God's green earth did you insist on a "new style" Right Stuff dance move.  A slight steppy thing front to back.  NOOOO.  Stick with what works.  For reals yo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Jon is definitely retarded.  That dude is perhaps the worst dancer of all time.  All. Time.  He looks confused, sad, and lost.  See minute 3:31 for prime example.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  Does anyone else agree with me that perhaps the song "Please Don't Go Girl" needs to be retired.  Or they should bring in a girl to sing it.  It's not the same with Joey's man voice.  Sorry, I love the song too.  BUT--there was somewhat of a redemption when Joey put on the signature hat.  So hot!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  Um. Back-up whore dancers?  Since when?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Side note--It was totally awesome doing the Hangin' Tough arm swing.  Awesome.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  At 3:09 - when Jordan rips his aviators off - hilarious.  See above comment about laughing out loud.  Right after this, I think it's Joey who laughs out loud - was he also laughing at the ridiculousness of Jordan?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok--I am not even going to start in on Pt. II.  Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe never.  Either way--the performance was shiteous to say the least, yet it was still the greatest thing ever!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heart you NKOTB!  I'm glad you are back!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8353008447054531912?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8353008447054531912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8353008447054531912&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8353008447054531912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8353008447054531912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/wrong-stuff-sorry.html' title='The Wrong Stuff--sorry :('/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-3992362471051556625</id><published>2008-05-20T13:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-20T13:10:00.068-07:00</updated><title type='text'>JCVD</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/SDMvts60DXI/AAAAAAAAAGs/PFf2XloeMpw/s1600-h/JCVD.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/SDMvts60DXI/AAAAAAAAAGs/PFf2XloeMpw/s320/JCVD.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5202554456741514610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Given that once upon a time, a website told me that JCVD would play me in movies, I'm partial to the guy.  We all know websites are always 100% true.  Anyways, this picture is floating around many gossip cites b/c JCVD is a 109 years old and posing like this.  More importantly however, JCVD is 109 years old and appears to have a boner.  Which brings me back to the website--I too think I would get a hard-on posing my massive muscles to a crowd of strangers with a camera pointed at me.  JCVD is me.  My bad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-3992362471051556625?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/3992362471051556625/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=3992362471051556625&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3992362471051556625'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3992362471051556625'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/jcvd.html' title='JCVD'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/SDMvts60DXI/AAAAAAAAAGs/PFf2XloeMpw/s72-c/JCVD.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-5614254990954872103</id><published>2008-05-20T12:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-20T13:00:42.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Montages</title><content type='html'>Montages are fun! Here's one from &lt;em&gt;Lost&lt;/em&gt; - as creepy as this is, when (not if) Desmond and I do it, I want him to say this over and over. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Tq_SURMi1Mo&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Tq_SURMi1Mo&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&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/6031934682129658750-5614254990954872103?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/5614254990954872103/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=5614254990954872103&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5614254990954872103'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5614254990954872103'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/montages.html' title='Montages'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-140527920460916217</id><published>2008-05-13T07:45:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-13T07:53:19.653-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Berlin (Borat)!</title><content type='html'>Here's a great video of Mike, a cute British guy I met this past weekend in Berlin.  This very video is how he completely won me over that night!  I am particularly fond of the ass grab at the end of the video--very nice touch!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object height="355" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/QdLgnb1a2eY&amp;amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/QdLgnb1a2eY&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&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/6031934682129658750-140527920460916217?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/140527920460916217/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=140527920460916217&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/140527920460916217'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/140527920460916217'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/berlin-borat.html' title='Berlin (Borat)!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-4485980013525744252</id><published>2008-05-12T01:20:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-12T01:34:54.635-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid Bitch Lesson #3</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Pay special attention to this lesson kiddies, as it may be one of the most important Stupid Bitch lessons of your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As a woman, if you are shoe shopping with a friend, every shoe in the store is &lt;strong&gt;&lt;em&gt;NOT&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/strong&gt; available to you. I know it appears that way b/c you walk into the store, and you can look, touch, smell, try on, whatever the hell you want to each shoe. BUT--a big "but" here at that--if another female you are with is eyeballing a pair of shoes before you, then those are her shoes. Even if the chances that she will purchase said shoes are about 2.8%, those are still her shoes. She has claimed them. This rule is so set in stone that you can take a girl's man before you can buy a pair of shoes she is contemplating.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought all mothers taught their daughters this. And if they didn't, a good ass-beating in an Aldo's back in 1997 did. I was wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://flordelaqua.files.wordpress.com/2007/06/chocolate-high-heels.png"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://flordelaqua.files.wordpress.com/2007/06/chocolate-high-heels.png" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was with perhaps the stupidest bitch ever this weekend. I saw a cute pair of heels that I thought about buying. I even point them out to my female co-shoppers. I set the heel back down to look at the shelf below, and this fucking whore I'm with swoops in, picks up the shoe, and asks for her size. I cannot for the life of me phathom this or sit here now and write up the emotion that was going through me. That stupid bitch bought the damn shoes. Outrageous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not only did she commit the cardinal sin of shopping with women, but she has forever cast herself in permanent bitch status for all time. Nothing she could ever do will erase this mistake. I could be dying and she could give me her kidney- still a stupid bitch. She could meet Shia, have the opportunity to sleep with him, but then proceed to step back and talk me up--so much so that he knocks of my door ready for marriage--still a stupid bitch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Even still--the likelihood of her breaking her ankle in those shoes has just quadrupled. The bitch is going to hurt in those. She will have blisters. All shoe curses shall befall her. And the stupid bitch deserves it.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-4485980013525744252?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/4485980013525744252/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=4485980013525744252&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4485980013525744252'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4485980013525744252'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/stupid-bitch-lesson-3.html' title='Stupid Bitch Lesson #3'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-2421346478131614039</id><published>2008-05-06T12:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-06T12:44:04.700-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Going to Party Like It Was 1989!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I can't believe the excellence that is my life right now. I, ladies and gentlemen, will be attending NKOTB's first performance together in 15 years on May 16, 2008. Yes, I'm flying home from "the armpit of Europe" (thx Mr. Big!) to see this performance. Ok, ok, I may be coming home for Lisa as well, and for shopping, and to make out with American soil--but whatevs. I'll be there! It'll be like I'm 9 all over again--I can't wait. Do you think Joey will recognize grown-up me from the numerous videos I sent to him as a child, proposing marriage countless times? I know the answer to this one too - of course he will! Our love affair can finally begin-ha!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And for my fellow co-workers in the Pest--I will be holding our sign: "Free the Budapest 7!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5197352448510509666" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/SCC0g-H5wmI/AAAAAAAAAGk/PdaaRmb-B8U/s400/nkotb.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-2421346478131614039?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/2421346478131614039/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=2421346478131614039&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2421346478131614039'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2421346478131614039'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/im-going-to-party-like-it-was-1989.html' title='I&apos;m Going to Party Like It Was 1989!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/SCC0g-H5wmI/AAAAAAAAAGk/PdaaRmb-B8U/s72-c/nkotb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7271345809006463739</id><published>2008-05-05T12:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-05T12:26:31.101-07:00</updated><title type='text'>NKOTB Baby!</title><content type='html'>You must &lt;a href="http://www.people.com/people/article/0,,20197878,00.html"&gt;click here for NKOTB's new single "Summertime."&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I think they all look great--but seriously--that picture of Jon makes him look like the retarded cousin. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p.s. I hope they have a great dance tune lined up eventually!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7271345809006463739?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7271345809006463739/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7271345809006463739&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7271345809006463739'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7271345809006463739'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/nkotb-baby.html' title='NKOTB Baby!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8275198869716573878</id><published>2008-05-05T09:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-05T09:51:34.448-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mama's Coming Home . . .</title><content type='html'>Not literally, but I'm pretty sure this place will feel just like home this weekend in Berlin:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;White Trash Fast Food &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Schönhauser Allee 610119 Berlin&lt;br /&gt;Fone: 030.5034 8668&lt;br /&gt;Opening Hours:daily from 18:00&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loves it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8275198869716573878?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8275198869716573878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8275198869716573878&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8275198869716573878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8275198869716573878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/mamas-coming-home.html' title='Mama&apos;s Coming Home . . .'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1609402347649543026</id><published>2008-05-04T14:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-04T14:54:24.811-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid Bitch Lesson #2</title><content type='html'>This is a lesson for anyone to learn, male or female. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing, and I mean nothing, is more annoying than when you are sitting in an empty theater and the next people to come in choose the seats right in front of you.  I will never understand why people do that for the life of me.  Are you too afraid to sit about six or ten feet from someone else in the dark?  Are you actually afraid of the dark?  Why, why, why do you insist on sitting in front of someone? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And oh the best part--you, as a stupid bitch, walk into the theater, see me sitting there with MY FEET ON THE BACK OF THE CHAIR AND YET YOU STILL INSIST ON SITTING IN THAT CHAIR.  You know I have to take my feet down.  And I just love your extra stupid bitchiness when you, yourself, put your feet on the chair in front of you.  Feels good, doesn't it, you stupid bitch? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, choose one of the other 500 empty seats.  And maybe next time, your stupid bitch ass doesn't have to get told.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember, don't be a stupid bitch, b/c no one likes one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're welcome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1609402347649543026?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1609402347649543026/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1609402347649543026&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1609402347649543026'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1609402347649543026'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/stupid-bitch-lesson-2.html' title='Stupid Bitch Lesson #2'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-2886256208572013057</id><published>2008-05-03T05:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-03T05:25:15.515-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stupid Bitch Lesson #1</title><content type='html'>My new thing lately has been to call out certain females when they are being what I like to call "stupid bitches."  It's when they do something that they know is annoying as hell or just plain wrong, but act like it's not happening.  I have decided that as I notice certain acts of stupid bitches, I will post them.  This way you too shall be able to recognize a stupid bitch when you see one, or most importantly, stop yourself from being a stupid bitch.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Stupid Bitch Lesson #1:&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh I'll just have the veggie plate please." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now ordering a lite dinner is perfectly fine.  I'm not about to rag on being healthy.  But you step over into stupidbitchland when you order that but proceed to eat everyone else's food around you.  You know you want the fries, steak, burger, nachos, and whatever else is on someone else's plate.  But yet you as a stupid bitch insist on "ordering healthy."  But you are not eating healthy when you lick everyone else's plate clean.  And then you are a super stupid bitch when you have the audacity after dinner to act like you ate healthy.  Or make comments like "I think the portions are reasonable."  No Stupid Bitch, YOUR portion was not reasonable.  You behaved like a fat ass and ate everything.  You are that Stupid Bitch who orders a salad but eats her man's fries.  Now, don't get me wrong--I could care less what the hell you eat.  Just don't be stupid and act like you didn't eat it.  Own it--announce to the table that you can't believe that you just ate your weight in cheese.  I will respect you more.  The world will respect you more. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today's Lesson: Don't be a Stupid Bitch.  Because we all know, no one likes Stupid Bitches.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You're welcome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-2886256208572013057?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/2886256208572013057/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=2886256208572013057&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2886256208572013057'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2886256208572013057'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/stupid-bitch-lesson-1.html' title='Stupid Bitch Lesson #1'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7183183379131298311</id><published>2008-05-02T07:25:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-02T07:29:52.329-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My first fingernail</title><content type='html'>Ok so those who know me know that I can't stand nails.  I keep my creepily short.  And yes, that means I'm 4 and bite them.  That's exactly what I've done since I was 4 as a matter of fact.  Anyways, I'm too grown up to do that now-whatever that means. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't been sure that my nails will even grow beyond a shadow of whiteness anymore, but lo and behold, I have my first fingernail.  It's on my left thumb.  So weird--I can't stop obsessing about it.  I want to cut it.  Now mind you, it's not long enough for anyone to notice that I even have a fingernail, but you can see white people.  I'm doing my best to let it grow.  And I think I'm even secretly hoping it's the only one that does grow, so I look like a creepy drug dealer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I don't know if I can resist cutting this damn thing off.  Can I break old habits?  I really hope so,  b/c there are like 500 others I need to drop.  Starting with my taste in men . . . yikes!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7183183379131298311?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7183183379131298311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7183183379131298311&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7183183379131298311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7183183379131298311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/my-first-fingernail.html' title='My first fingernail'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-161873299127142161</id><published>2008-05-02T02:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-02T02:46:27.509-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I miss about America, Series 2</title><content type='html'>Brent had a good one today --&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Water in the toiletbowl - For reals, yo!  They have like 1/3 cup sitting in there, and well, it's gross.  Leave it to a boy to point this one out!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's some more:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ice - dear god, I miss a cold beverage.  When we get ice, it's like a god, and we sit in silence to enjoy it.  And by the way, since when did I use the word "beverage?"  What am I, 83?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;English-speaking TV programs -  Enough said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sandwiches - finding a simple sandwich shop here is like looking for the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.  Ooh, let's add "quick" sandwich shop to that, as well.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really miss America for food reasons apparently.  Wow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-161873299127142161?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/161873299127142161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=161873299127142161&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/161873299127142161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/161873299127142161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/things-i-miss-about-america-series-2.html' title='Things I miss about America, Series 2'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-6397407264417905799</id><published>2008-05-01T01:21:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-05-01T01:27:54.749-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Things I miss about America, Series 1</title><content type='html'>1.  Ketchup -  I miss glorious ketchup bottles placed on just about every restaurant table in America.  Here I'm lucky if I can get it, and then they give me a teeny tiny amount, and it makes me sad.  On top of that, I miss the taste of American ketchup.  Oh sweet sweet ketchup with fries. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  CVS/Walgreens/Duane Reade - I miss being able to get the little things you need, like hair products, deodorant, floss, all the other millions of gems that one can find in a "convenience" store.  I have never understood nor appreciated that term more than ever now.  I know why some of the people stink here.  They simply cannot easily locate the personal hygiene products they need.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  Couches - My gigantic, comfty bed in the hotel room is great and all, but I miss being lazy on a damn couch.  I honestly don't think I've sat on a couch or laid on a couch since I arrived. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. The word "douche bag" - I miss calling everyone I know that word or a "d bag."  I'm surrounded by work people all day, so it's entirely inappropriate here. But dammit, I miss insulting those I love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-6397407264417905799?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/6397407264417905799/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=6397407264417905799&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6397407264417905799'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6397407264417905799'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/05/things-i-miss-about-america-series-1.html' title='Things I miss about America, Series 1'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-5362185262533769829</id><published>2008-04-29T06:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-29T06:14:49.874-07:00</updated><title type='text'>We're going on a manhunt. . .</title><content type='html'>in Berlin! Yeah, this is a life update posting. We have booked our girls' weekend in Berlin. Yay German boys!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-5362185262533769829?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/5362185262533769829/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=5362185262533769829&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5362185262533769829'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5362185262533769829'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/were-going-manhunt.html' title='We&apos;re going on a manhunt. . .'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7478443652910970931</id><published>2008-04-28T07:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T07:53:24.075-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HP's Magic Wand</title><content type='html'>Forgot to tell you all that I got tickets to his show--I will see the wand and all its magical glory.  I'm so excited to see it that I even forgot for awhile that there's an actual play.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7478443652910970931?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7478443652910970931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7478443652910970931&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7478443652910970931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7478443652910970931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/hps-magic-wand.html' title='HP&apos;s Magic Wand'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1172838286282641729</id><published>2008-04-28T06:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T07:14:14.090-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What the hell is J.Crew trying to do?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/SBXW1eH5wlI/AAAAAAAAAGY/aGpHASIfO0I/s1600-h/tight+roll.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5194293959349355090" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/SBXW1eH5wlI/AAAAAAAAAGY/aGpHASIfO0I/s400/tight+roll.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; Do you see that montrosity?  Yes, that is a tight roll.  I just pulled this picture from J.Crew's website.  Not only is this how they wish to advertise those jeans, but are they honestly trying to bring back the tight roll?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember my first tight roll. It was the 6th grade, and I was one of the first to do it in my school.  Call me a trend-setter if you must.  BUT IT MUST NOT COME BACK.  Gag me with a spoon, J.Crew -- As if!  [Feel free to insert your own early 90s sayings.  I tried to work in "Not" into this post as well, but failed.  I'm a Loser (capital L over my forehead)-Zing!]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1172838286282641729?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1172838286282641729/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1172838286282641729&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1172838286282641729'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1172838286282641729'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/what-hell-is-jcrew-trying-to-do.html' title='What the hell is J.Crew trying to do?'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp1.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/SBXW1eH5wlI/AAAAAAAAAGY/aGpHASIfO0I/s72-c/tight+roll.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1878764050744116378</id><published>2008-04-28T03:07:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-28T03:14:10.095-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Warning: Rant Post</title><content type='html'>Is it me, or do people who act like they know everything and do everything make you super hateful, as well as, force you to daydream about karate chopping their faces?  Thought so.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, that's what I deal with all day.  There's a certain someone who literally thinks they (yes, I'm using the incorrect plural here b/c I don't want to type she or he) do everything.  Someone will ask a question, and they shout out, "As I told you a few days ago. . ." or "I know what that is. . . "  First, I'd really like to respond, "No asshole, I don't remember what your hateful voice shouted out at 1:37 p.m. exactly 4 days ago. Why? B/c everytime you talk, I slip into my karate chopping fantasy where you don't get a chance to tell everyone what you know every two seconds."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite part is how they always roll their eyes and use a tone of voice where it literally sounds like it is physically painful for them to speak, yet everyone knows it isn't, b/c they actually love the sound of the voice explaining why they have a comment for everything someone else says.  OMG.  They are even forcing me to write in terrible run-on sentences.  I guess I am just literally fighting for something to say so much so that I have now succumbed to typing as much as I can as quickly as possible.  Like this annoying human being will eventually run over to me, push me out of my chair, and finish typing this post.  But of course, if they did, it would be better b/c they did it.  They are so awesome!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1878764050744116378?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1878764050744116378/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1878764050744116378&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1878764050744116378'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1878764050744116378'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/warning-rant-post.html' title='Warning: Rant Post'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8163607596326538075</id><published>2008-04-27T09:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-27T09:45:05.278-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Drama Queen!</title><content type='html'>&lt;object classid="clsid:D27CDB6E-AE6D-11cf-96B8-444553540000" width="390" height="320" id="Redlasso"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://media.redlasso.com/xdrive/WEB/vidplayer_1b/redlasso_player_b1b_deploy.swf" /&gt;&lt;param name="flashvars" value="embedId=948c35b6-09f0-4908-9110-433fa9fc3c78" /&gt;&lt;param name="allowScriptAccess" value="always" /&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true" /&gt;&lt;embed src="http://media.redlasso.com/xdrive/WEB/vidplayer_1b/redlasso_player_b1b_deploy.swf" flashvars="embedId=948c35b6-09f0-4908-9110-433fa9fc3c78" width="390" height="320" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowScriptAccess="always" allowFullScreen="true" name="Redlasso"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I was reading Perez, I saw this clip featuring Madonna on the Today Show.  She's talking about her new movie.  Anyways - I'm not posting this for Madonna's outrageous British accent, but for Ann Curry's horrendous reporting.  OH. MY. GOD.  She is so incredibly dramatic, it's scary.  I mean her first question alone--listen to the tone of her voice.  I can't put my finger on it, but she is talking super &lt;br /&gt;slowly, in a super saddened tone, and she's hunched over like f*ing Quasimodo.  Seriously, can she overact any more?  Terrible. F.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(If clip won't play above, &lt;a href="http://www.redlasso.com/ClipPlayer.aspx?id=948c35b6-09f0-4908-9110-433fa9fc3c78"&gt;click here&lt;/a&gt;.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8163607596326538075?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8163607596326538075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8163607596326538075&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8163607596326538075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8163607596326538075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/drama-queen.html' title='Drama Queen!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8874611541133778902</id><published>2008-04-25T05:29:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T05:34:45.576-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Maaakke.  iiitt.  Stooopppp.  Puhleassse!</title><content type='html'>Annoying walker/runner: "Oh my god you guys, this is the route I walked this morning.  I just walked all along this road.  I took a different route from the last time we walked.  Instead, I went one block over to here.  It was really beautiful, and it was great exercise."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Two minutes later as we pass another street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone else: "Oh this looks like a cute street."&lt;br /&gt;Annoying walker/runner: "Yeah, I also passed this street on my walk this morning."&lt;br /&gt;Me in my head: "Shut the hell up.  Worst. Story. Ever.  Why even speak?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm super hateful, which means ranting posts to continue . . .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8874611541133778902?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8874611541133778902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8874611541133778902&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8874611541133778902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8874611541133778902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/maaakke-iiitt-stooopppp-puhleassse.html' title='Maaakke.  iiitt.  Stooopppp.  Puhleassse!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-4622278882193988537</id><published>2008-04-22T14:32:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-22T14:43:22.418-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Really--you ran how many miles today? Wow, that's interesting.</title><content type='html'>I have realized that I hate people who run, and then proceed to ruin the rest of my day talking about their damn run.  Now I don't mind people who run--it's a good exercise--I'm talking about the damn people who run, and tell you about every step. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Whew, I had a good run today.  Not like my run yesterday.  This one, about 20 minutes into it, I was just running good."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who the F cares???  I don't--the people who can overhear our conversation don't.  I'm convinced these people are just so stuck on themselves that they think I give two cents about how when their song came on, they just booked it.  I especially love how they want your entire life to be put on hold, so they can run too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh, I'd love to join you, but would you mind waiting until 9 30 pm? I know it's 6 15 and everyone wants to leave at 7, but I really need to run."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, you know what--you can run straight to hell.  Please--don't stop until you get there. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean seriously--you run on a treadmill for like 25 damn minutes.  You are no Olympic athlete.  I don't admire you.  And for you guys who only run--let me tell you, the 88 lb. frame that is your running figure--the panties just fall. . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for future reference--I'm so incredibly impressed by your ability to knock 7 seconds off your 3-mile run.  I even keep my own diary of your running stats for my personal entertainment.  So there's no need for you to recreate every painful step for me in the future.  And no, I'm not waiting on your stupid ass anymore.  And oh--the rest of us do exercise too--we just have lives and don't feel the need to tell you about it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-4622278882193988537?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/4622278882193988537/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=4622278882193988537&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4622278882193988537'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4622278882193988537'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/really-you-ran-how-many-miles-today-wow.html' title='Really--you ran how many miles today? Wow, that&apos;s interesting.'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-3918214859666982957</id><published>2008-04-20T14:33:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-20T14:34:18.459-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Spam Comments Rule</title><content type='html'>I like that my blog is interesting.  I like that HD or LCD or whatever TV likes my blog.  I feel complete now.  So much so, that I still will not visit your damn website.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-3918214859666982957?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/3918214859666982957/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=3918214859666982957&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3918214859666982957'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3918214859666982957'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/spam-comments-rule.html' title='Spam Comments Rule'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-2039809961745250884</id><published>2008-04-18T10:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-18T10:39:30.241-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm bored, but my life is probably still better than yours!</title><content type='html'>Sorry for the lack of blogging.  I have no excuse other than I have no imagination right now.  I can't be a monkey just entertaining for you all the time.  Get your own damn life, and go out! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I am pretty sure I'll be trapped, I mean living, here in the Pest until August or September.  Definitely through June and most of July.  But that means--SUMMER IN EUROPE, YO!  Good times!  I'm off to Vienna this weekend.  We are actually road tripping.  I'm sure it will be hilarious. We are in a micro-machine, and I think we might force the Cowboy onto the Autobon.   If only for a mile, then we can stop, clean up [read "change poopy pants"], and get back to the normal, safe roads.  [We have to drive b/c there is a Budapest transportation strike-shocker.  I promise this country strikes every 10 minutes.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On top of the vacationing, allow me to brag about this---I already have a week's stay in a 2-bedroom villa at Hawaii, France, and about 25 other luxurious destinations. That's right bitches--suck on my hotel points! &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And don't be all sensitive w/ this post--you know I love and miss you all!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-2039809961745250884?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/2039809961745250884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=2039809961745250884&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2039809961745250884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2039809961745250884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/im-bored-but-my-life-is-probably-still.html' title='I&apos;m bored, but my life is probably still better than yours!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-2265067362154629981</id><published>2008-04-15T06:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-15T06:18:54.949-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to the Pest</title><content type='html'>Well, my time in the States has been great.  I'd say the first thing I noticed was definitely how "new" our country is.  Kind of missed the old castles and cathedrals of Europe, but still enjoyed the open spaces and familiarity of home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was great to see everyone that I got to see--I definitely missed all of you!  So to all my friends and family--thanks for everything this past week.  I needed all the TLC to do another stint in Budapest.  Love ya!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And as a teaser for the upcoming Pest posts . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. New location for work--let's hope it's just as hot and stinky!&lt;br /&gt;2. New team member coming -- let's hope he's hot! And definitely a he!&lt;br /&gt;3.  Will the Stache return????&lt;br /&gt;4.  What new cities will I visit this time around--suggestions?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-2265067362154629981?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/2265067362154629981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=2265067362154629981&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2265067362154629981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2265067362154629981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/back-to-pest.html' title='Back to the Pest'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-6620501729409607401</id><published>2008-04-11T18:57:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-11T19:03:00.282-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Forgotten?</title><content type='html'>You know, I've been doing my best to catch up on all my celebrity gossip, since I was away from internet for a few days.  One of the many blogs I kept coming across was how Suri Cruise is not dead.  Apparently she was unseen for like 72 hours, so something must have been up.  But that got me thinking--what about Tom's other kids--the adopted ones?  I mean, the paparazzi acts like this is the first kid for him. Then, for Nicole Kidman--she's finally pregnant, so everyone is talking about that soon to be celeb as well.  What about those kids they adopted beforehand?  I don't even know their names--it's a boy and girl, right?  I could totally google that crap right now, but I think the fact that I can't remember them, but pretty sure I could draw a picture of Suri from memory just proves my point.  Are these kids not good enough b/c they are adopted?  I mean, Angelina's adopted kids get some attention--but no one is also paying millions of dollars for their baby pics. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know--adopting a baby with nothing is the new pink in Hollywood, yet no one really cares about these kids.  Not like the natural babies they pop out.  Kind of sad and makes me a little mad.  I mean, forgetting Tom Cruise's craziness for a minute, did he do dad things for his other kids like Suri?  I'm sure he did, but yet no one cared.  What gives?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-6620501729409607401?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/6620501729409607401/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=6620501729409607401&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6620501729409607401'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6620501729409607401'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/forgotten.html' title='The Forgotten?'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-6236518840360017937</id><published>2008-04-09T07:55:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-09T07:55:28.844-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Spacing issues</title><content type='html'>I apologize for the weird spacing in my previous post.  Something is broken, and I don't want to fix it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-6236518840360017937?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/6236518840360017937/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=6236518840360017937&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6236518840360017937'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6236518840360017937'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/spacing-issues.html' title='Spacing issues'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-830284422554887546</id><published>2008-04-09T07:43:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-09T07:54:46.014-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What happens in Prague . . .</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;should get blogged! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;So Prague was great everyone. Here are the highlights:&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;1. I climbed the tower at St. Vitus Cathedral. I'm pretty sure I almost died. Seriously--I had to sound like a dragon climbing those stairs. I frightened at least 17 children that day. The view was worth the heart attack.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;2. One of the things Prague is known for is the largest cuckoo clock. [It's the large tower on the left of the picture.] As you can see in the background of the pic as well, there's a disney fairy tale princess church. This was my favorite site. Anyways, when walking around Prague, I swear to you, you will always end up back at this exact location. It was like a twilight zone episode. Every time I turned around, there was that damn cuckoo clock.  Not an interesting story, but my frustration had to be put out there.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.bbc.co.uk/collective/dnaimages/gallery/2/membergallery06/memberphoto5.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.bbc.co.uk/collective/dnaimages/gallery/2/membergallery06/memberphoto5.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;3.  Went to a sex machine museum.  Scary!  Totally got to see the 1st threesome porno ever made.  Sadly--not hot.  I'm pretty sure I walked thru the entire museum with a disgusted, shocked look on my face, while constantly trying to avoid eye contact w/ the Cowboy.  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;4.  Got my first Thai massage.  No happy ending, pervs. Anyways--this was hilarious.  I laid down on the floor mat, and next thing I know, some tiny woman is sitting on my legs.  I almost laughed out loud.  She proceeded to distort and move my body in ways that I didn't think were possible for an hour.  At one point, she had me in a headlock, swinging me around.  I'm pretty sure she's never seen boobs this big in her life.  Hilarious, and super relaxing!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;5. Here's why I may hate this city though - we got stranded at the Prague airport for over 12 freakin' hours.  I hate fog.  I hate the weakness of the American dollar.  I got a sandwich--it was $33.  WTF?  WTF?  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;ok ok, I loved it!  When I get a chance, I will try to post some pics.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-830284422554887546?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/830284422554887546/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=830284422554887546&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/830284422554887546'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/830284422554887546'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/what-happens-in-prague.html' title='What happens in Prague . . .'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1185670349325999225</id><published>2008-04-04T03:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-04T03:54:41.542-07:00</updated><title type='text'>HA!</title><content type='html'>I think Budapest has officially become Bootypest . . .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1185670349325999225?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1185670349325999225/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1185670349325999225&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1185670349325999225'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1185670349325999225'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/ha.html' title='HA!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-2427529628604522085</id><published>2008-04-02T15:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-02T15:18:01.594-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Your Twang Is So British . . .</title><content type='html'>I have often wondered what American accents sound like to non-Americans.   Now the Parisians made fun of the American accent, saying it was "ugly." Whatevs!  Well, in Hungary, we sound British to them.  At least, I do.  On about five separate occasions, various Hungarians have asked me if I'm from London.  Yes my redneck accent sounds British to these people--love it!  I mean who doesn't want a small British man to secretly be living in their closet, so every night, he can pop out and just talk to you.  Read you stories.  Just be his happy little British self with his awesome accent.  I mean sure, my little British man looks like Hugh Grant, and we do little talking, but . . . sorry, I digress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, on a real life update, I will just have to let you know what the folks think in Prague.  That's right, I'm going to Prague.  Oooh, I can feel the sting of jealousy all the way over here!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-2427529628604522085?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/2427529628604522085/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=2427529628604522085&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2427529628604522085'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2427529628604522085'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/your-twang-is-so-british.html' title='Your Twang Is So British . . .'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8925130692874879014</id><published>2008-04-01T03:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-01T03:07:32.524-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tattoo</title><content type='html'>So occassionally I post one of my Dino Comics that I'm in love with.  It's b/c I'm convinced that the creator reads my diary every night. (Of course this means that I'd have to keep a diary, but rest assured that if I did, I would sign it "XOXO.")  Anyways, I am T-Rex.  Yesterday's comic, which I'm not posting, was about getting tattoos about things you wish you did in your life.  Then, T-Rex decides that he should get the following tattoo--the same tattoo that is sadly and excellently so me.  I should get a "To Do" list, with number 1 being the task of "Be Awesome."  That would be crossed out.  Number 2 would be "Sex up the person reading this." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry but that's funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I ask you--if you could get a tattoo of things you wish you would have done in life, what would it be?  Be creative.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8925130692874879014?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8925130692874879014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8925130692874879014&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8925130692874879014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8925130692874879014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/tattoo.html' title='Tattoo'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-9183718100865471731</id><published>2008-04-01T02:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-04-01T02:54:48.219-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I need a moment or two alone please</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R_IGLvCwffI/AAAAAAAAAGM/hsObCYoDg0Y/s1600-h/shia.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5184212919733222898" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R_IGLvCwffI/AAAAAAAAAGM/hsObCYoDg0Y/s400/shia.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever seen anything this hot?  No, you haven't.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-9183718100865471731?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/9183718100865471731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=9183718100865471731&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/9183718100865471731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/9183718100865471731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/04/i-need-moment-or-two-alone-please.html' title='I need a moment or two alone please'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R_IGLvCwffI/AAAAAAAAAGM/hsObCYoDg0Y/s72-c/shia.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-3622698500001263888</id><published>2008-03-29T04:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-29T04:14:00.371-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tickle Yourself Elmo!</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/uZallijgs3U&amp;hl=en"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/uZallijgs3U&amp;hl=en" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I had to post this Dane Cook "Tickle" joke b/c it reminds me of this inside office joke we have here.  I cannot stop giggling.  And those of you who know me, know that my laugh is out of control.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, I make fun of Jake G. b/c he caresses his arm while he works, almost like he's tickling himself.  Cowboy then pretends to be Jake G. tickling himself.  It's hilarious.  "No Jake, don't tickle your feet."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you imagine someone actually tickling their own armpit?  Hilarious.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-3622698500001263888?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/3622698500001263888/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=3622698500001263888&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3622698500001263888'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3622698500001263888'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/so-i-had-to-post-this-dane-cook-tickle.html' title='Tickle Yourself Elmo!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8101120756188209052</id><published>2008-03-29T03:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-29T03:27:22.837-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Taxi!</title><content type='html'>One of my keen observations here in Europe has been the difference in taxi drivers compared to the US.  I have had some of the most hilarious taxi rides here and in Paris than I've ever had in New York.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last weekend in Paris, Julie, Jen and I were in a cab, all in the backseat.  The song "Dancing Queen" by Abba came on.  We literally whispered, "Oh I like this song."  I mean what girl hasn't danced to that 718 times in college?  Seriously.  He then proceeds to blast it.  I mean blast it, windows up style.  Of course we then felt obligated to sing it ridiculously loud.  Good times!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then here in Budapest, the taxi driver this morning, mind you, was again out of control w/ the radio.  He busted in HIS OWN CD of American rap.  He then played it incredibly loud with the bass pumpin'.  All while he floored it.  When we arrived to work, we definitely needed a drink and some slutty clothes on.  Yeah I wouldn't mind seeing Jake G. in one more of his ridiculously tight T-shirts.  (Side: "There goes her fat ass in that too tight T-shirt."  I digress.)   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You will never have this experience in New York.  Never.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8101120756188209052?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8101120756188209052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8101120756188209052&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8101120756188209052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8101120756188209052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/taxi.html' title='Taxi!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7621363254095279883</id><published>2008-03-27T08:23:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-27T08:24:57.109-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Do This Test!</title><content type='html'>&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ahg6qcgoay4&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x000000&amp;color2=0x000000"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/Ahg6qcgoay4&amp;rel=0&amp;color1=0x000000&amp;color2=0x000000" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&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/6031934682129658750-7621363254095279883?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7621363254095279883/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7621363254095279883&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7621363254095279883'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7621363254095279883'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/do-this.html' title='Do This Test!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-6168322521635979853</id><published>2008-03-27T06:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-27T06:25:35.229-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Cute Dentist</title><content type='html'>Well I survived my dentist appt.  Nothing major needs to be done--I'm getting a filling on Monday.  Why? B/c I'm 12 and eat candy.  But overall the exam went well.  He just looked at my teeth, poked around.  Not sure why I had to get undressed for that, but who am I to judge Hungarian dentistry? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And oh--the hateful little man at the hotel who hates me has been MIA lately.  That or I just haven't noticed him b/c he's following me while hiding in a plant or something.  I'm sure that's it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-6168322521635979853?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/6168322521635979853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=6168322521635979853&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6168322521635979853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6168322521635979853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/cute-dentist.html' title='Cute Dentist'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-299172954940294604</id><published>2008-03-26T10:00:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-26T10:02:53.026-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Goodbye Loved Ones!</title><content type='html'>This may be my farewell post for tomorrow I have to go to a dentist, here.  The movie &lt;em&gt;Hostel&lt;/em&gt; keeps coming to mind.  In case you haven't seen that movie, it's about American tourists in Europe who get kidnapped. They are then tortured and killed by rich people across the world who are bored.  Yep, that may be my dentist tomorrow. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, it's been real, yo!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-299172954940294604?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/299172954940294604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=299172954940294604&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/299172954940294604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/299172954940294604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/goodbye-loved-ones.html' title='Goodbye Loved Ones!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-4822394569274119185</id><published>2008-03-26T03:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-26T03:16:30.808-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fan Wars</title><content type='html'>So the initial table wars that we had at the beginning have now become the fan wars. We have two 1978 oscillating fans in this hot, stinky room. Now, the room is small, but not so tiny that we are all sitting right next to each other. Anyways, there's one fan in the front part of the room, and one for the back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Stache literally had the nerve to come take the back room fan (my back room fan), and sit it directly in front of him. And oh the topper - HE TURNED OFF THE OSCILLATING FUNCTION AND IS LITERALLY JUST SITTING IN FRONT OF THE FAN WITH HIS STACHE OF GLORY BLOWING IN THE WIND.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, I have to say something at this point. So in front of everyone, I tell him just how rude he is. Unbelievable! I cannot for the life of me stand rude people. The Stache has gone too far. Again, I'll break the fan before he has his own.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think the wheels from his chair are going to have to be removed as well. Yes, I'm hateful today. Not good for the Stache.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-4822394569274119185?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/4822394569274119185/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=4822394569274119185&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4822394569274119185'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4822394569274119185'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/fan-wars.html' title='Fan Wars'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7995751243297758255</id><published>2008-03-25T01:15:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-25T01:25:23.127-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mortal Enemies</title><content type='html'>For some reason, the little man who works in the exec lounge loathes me entirely.  It started off small, a dirty look here and there.  Didn't think much of it.  Then, one morning he tells me that I can't take an apple juice and a water--something I have taken every morning since my arrival, and something that just about everyone else does.  So I look at him, open the apple juice, drink it in front of him, slam the bottle down, take the water and go.  WTF?  I mean, why is he the apple juice police with me and no one else.  So I was steamed - and then to top it off, when I went downstairs, others had 2 drinks--BUT NOT ME--OH NO.   That little, hateful man made sure of that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things then escalate . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The morning of my flight to Paris, I went back to the exec lounge to print my boarding pass.  Lucifer is again working.  He sees my suitcase, smiles and says, "Oh you are finally leaving yeah?"  "No, I'll be back."  [insert sinister laugh here]  He frowns instantly.  He asks me where I'm going and what time my flight is.  I tell him "10 am."  Mind you, it's 7 am.  We are 25 minutes from the airport.  He then proceeds to go crazy on me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Oh no, you too late.  You might as well go right back upstairs b/c you aren't going anywhere.  I can't believe you are leaving so late.  There is too much traffic.  Tell Paris goodbye."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OH MY GOD.  Is he for real? I have THREE HOURS DUDE. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I feel very uncomfortable, so I'm like "I think we're cool."  I leave and decide to go down to the business center.  I'd rather pay for copies than sit with this hateful man for too long. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;HE FOLLOWS ME.  Like I'm a shoplifter or something.  He watches me print at the business center all hateful.  What did I do to this little man? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So it is on.  It has become my life's mission to mess with this man.  I think tonight I'll go to the exec lounge, open one of everything, take a sip, and leave open bottles all over the place.  Jake G. suggested that I just pour the peanuts into my bag, and then tell him they're out of peanuts.    Or next time he follows me, I'll walk all weavey like to see if he does too.  Yeah--these cruel cruel jokes will show him.  You don't mess with a mastermind like me.  Oh no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stupid hateful man.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7995751243297758255?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7995751243297758255/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7995751243297758255&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7995751243297758255'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7995751243297758255'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/mortal-enemies.html' title='Mortal Enemies'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-6099516049336855553</id><published>2008-03-20T01:25:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-20T01:28:56.280-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's My Party and I'll Do Shots If I Want To . . .</title><content type='html'>We celebrated my birthday last night, since we'll all be in different cities this weekend!  It was great! We went to a Mexican restaurant, b/c well, we just can't eat Hungarian anymore. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, this post is boring, but before going to the restaurant, they actually decorated the executive lounge in the hotel.  I had hats, blower thingies--the works.  I got to blow out candles.  So this post is for the amazing people I work with here.  I heart them!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[It should probably be an apology post, but I don't remember much after the restaurant. . .]&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-6099516049336855553?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/6099516049336855553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=6099516049336855553&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6099516049336855553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6099516049336855553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/its-my-party-and-ill-do-shots-if-i-want.html' title='It&apos;s My Party and I&apos;ll Do Shots If I Want To . . .'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-837002769152496269</id><published>2008-03-19T10:30:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-19T10:33:46.014-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Delicious!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://innerjoejoe.files.wordpress.com/2007/09/shia-labeouf-shirtless-14.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://innerjoejoe.files.wordpress.com/2007/09/shia-labeouf-shirtless-14.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-837002769152496269?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/837002769152496269/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=837002769152496269&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/837002769152496269'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/837002769152496269'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/delicious.html' title='Delicious!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-3308234316394544150</id><published>2008-03-18T10:23:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-18T10:24:01.880-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Current #1</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://img.perezhilton.com/microsite/shutter/stills/1024-SHKS-015.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://img.perezhilton.com/microsite/shutter/stills/1024-SHKS-015.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-3308234316394544150?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/3308234316394544150/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=3308234316394544150&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3308234316394544150'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3308234316394544150'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/my-current-1.html' title='My Current #1'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8658800032870715485</id><published>2008-03-18T06:57:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-18T07:01:33.885-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm an Embarrassment</title><content type='html'>Something is wrong with my insides--I'm not sure which ones. Anyways, I'm sitting, not hungry, and this horrendously loud noise comes from my chest. Like a stomach growl from the heart. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT? I mean it's weird. I'm not gassy or anything like that. It literally sounds like my heart is roaring. Of course, being in this tiny room is awesome when something freakish like this happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will have no friends by the day's end.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8658800032870715485?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8658800032870715485/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8658800032870715485&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8658800032870715485'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8658800032870715485'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/im-embarrassment.html' title='I&apos;m an Embarrassment'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-9093179215828450325</id><published>2008-03-17T06:36:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-17T06:46:04.282-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Still here</title><content type='html'>Well, I survived this weekend.  Saturday was a national holiday here, and there are always big riots.  All the streets were blocked off and police were everywhere in tanks and all.  At the same time, everyone is out to all the markets/festivals, etc. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not us though--we road tripped!  We rented a car and hit up three cities along the Danube.  The first city was Szentendre, or as the Cowboy pronounces it "Shzitaturd."  It really does kind of sound like that.  It was a super cute fairy tale town, with small pink and yellow buildings.  I then saw a castle with amazing views, to finally end up at Hungary's largest church.  It was a great day with great company, but I am even falling asleep as I type about this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will tell this boring story too though -- I tried Palinka, the Hungarian drink of choice.  Dear God--it makes your mouth and tongue go numb, and throat burn.  I loved it and hated it all at the same time!  I tried some sherry based Palinka, but apparently there's one that tastes just like tequila.  Oh yeah baby--tonight for St. Pat's day fo sho.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-9093179215828450325?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/9093179215828450325/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=9093179215828450325&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/9093179215828450325'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/9093179215828450325'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/still-here.html' title='Still here'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-3795246356147320180</id><published>2008-03-14T03:31:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T03:36:12.963-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Eye Candy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R9pUoh1uLMI/AAAAAAAAAGE/kaXXQeNiOCM/s1600-h/Euro+dude.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5177543776871001282" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R9pUoh1uLMI/AAAAAAAAAGE/kaXXQeNiOCM/s400/Euro+dude.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This is the most phenomenal Euro dude of all time.  At this club we all went dancing at one night, he was there rocking out.  I wish you could see the full chest and smell the BO.  But he was not in costume, this is his look, and his dancing was, well, too much for words.  He was a really cool guy!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-3795246356147320180?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/3795246356147320180/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=3795246356147320180&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3795246356147320180'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3795246356147320180'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/eye-candy.html' title='Eye Candy'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R9pUoh1uLMI/AAAAAAAAAGE/kaXXQeNiOCM/s72-c/Euro+dude.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-6073791534162521121</id><published>2008-03-14T03:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T03:24:05.631-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Updates Back Alright! (Sang to the BSB Hit "Everybody (Backstreet's Back)")</title><content type='html'>11:17 am&lt;br /&gt;Ok one of the women here dresses super cute, but she always wears something around her neck - be it a scarf or sweater. What's she hiding? Sure it could be an innocent fashion statement--but not so fashionable chicky. Instead your neckwear is greatly distracting from your otherwise awesome wardrobe. I'm going w/ hickies. Remember those? Oh the high school hickey. Now, if you get one, it's by accident and it's horribly embarassing, not to mention, a great excuse for a "personal day" from work. I so want a hickey.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-6073791534162521121?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/6073791534162521121/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=6073791534162521121&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6073791534162521121'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/6073791534162521121'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/updates-back-alright-sang-to-bsb-hit.html' title='Updates Back Alright! (Sang to the BSB Hit &quot;Everybody (Backstreet&apos;s Back)&quot;)'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7697104254301436544</id><published>2008-03-14T01:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T17:22:33.369-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day Who the Hell Knows B/c I Feel Like I've Been Here for Months Already</title><content type='html'>Sorry for the non-posting as of late. Things have just been busy on my end. [REDACTED]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, apparently there is a big political thing going down here on Saturday. There's riots and tear gas, sounds like a party. We are going to do some more investigating just to see how true that is, but that kind of puts a downer on things. Looks like it might be room service and a movie on Saturday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh, here's another update for you all. We finally got fans! So now it's hot, with slightly less hot air blowing on my face, and the BO is being spread all through the room instead of being confined to one stinky corner. Breathing deep is fun.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7697104254301436544?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7697104254301436544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7697104254301436544&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7697104254301436544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7697104254301436544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/day-who-hell-knows-bc-i-feel-like-ive.html' title='Day Who the Hell Knows B/c I Feel Like I&apos;ve Been Here for Months Already'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7934833573999333357</id><published>2008-03-11T02:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T17:23:14.224-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 10: Live Updates</title><content type='html'>6:29 pm&lt;br /&gt;John Lennon totally redeemed himself today by bringing various bottles of Hungarian white wine for us all to taste. Ok so not totally redeemed, but a little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2:36 pm&lt;br /&gt;Wow, could this office be anymore boring. Here's a funny email from B that I got:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;&lt;em&gt;Did you know that the currency in Vietnam is called the dong? I did not and was reading an article about it in the Economist on the bus today and laughed out loud when some finance dude was talking about the strong dong...I am 12.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Strong dong" - [REDACTED]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:39 am&lt;br /&gt;This one is for you H - but the Stache is sitting across from me today. He routinely does the ridiculously loud breath blow out thing. Except his breath actually has a stale scent to it. Gross.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:40 am&lt;br /&gt;Oh yeah, I'm back at my desk. Weird thing is, I feel bad about it. Even though, I have sat at this desk for the past week or so, and everyone else has their own station. Why did he choose me? I think it's b/c he has a crush on the woman who normally sits across from me. I would love to see the Stache flirt.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7934833573999333357?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7934833573999333357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7934833573999333357&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7934833573999333357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7934833573999333357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/day-10-live-updates.html' title='Day 10: Live Updates'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8443173070735420434</id><published>2008-03-10T07:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T17:23:47.500-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 9: IFHM</title><content type='html'>Wow, I've been MIA as of late. I actually had some time to explore the city this weekend. So beautiful! It put me in a such a peaceful mood that I thought, I can't blog about this. No one wants to read that. Besides, I've saved this blog for times I want to rant and be mean. And that's now. . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;F*ing Stache is going to die. He comes in and just sits at my desk and is like "I like this desk, I'm taking it." Oh little boy, you have just brought a rein of terror down upon yourself. I was cool, I'll give him the desk today, but so help me--I'll shit on the desk tomorrow before he sits there again. haha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Or will I . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[REDACTED]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Either way, I hate the Stache and his hobbit ties.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See, now isn't this post better than some post about my spiritual experience in the city this weekend? Thought so!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8443173070735420434?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8443173070735420434/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8443173070735420434&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8443173070735420434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8443173070735420434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/day-9-ifhm.html' title='Day 9: IFHM'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-9037376592300326652</id><published>2008-03-07T04:35:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T06:50:51.284-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 6 Cont'd: Live Updates</title><content type='html'>3:46 pm&lt;br /&gt;Just thought you all should know that The Stache has worn the same suit everyday this week, but he's changed his awesome ties.  Yesterday's tie was yellow and covered in little trees and cabins. And he wears weird boot shoes, w/ the back of his pants tucked into the boot.  And oh--the ties, he looks like he beat up a cabbage patch doll and took its tie.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1:25 pm&lt;br /&gt;No way this just happened to me--wait, of course something like this just happened to me.  I was put on snack run, which was a difficult task at that.  I'm walking back w/ bag of cookies in hand and money in the other.  I go to cross the street.  This car drives up, stops and waves me to cross.  Very nice, right?  This man driving then proceeds to roll down his window and proposition me for sex.  With his hands, he points to him and me quickly, smiles pervertedly, and gives a thumbs up to see if I agree.  What???  Crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Best part to me is that I'm wearing work clothes and my black work coat.  Yeah, I got it that good yo.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-9037376592300326652?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/9037376592300326652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=9037376592300326652&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/9037376592300326652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/9037376592300326652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/day-6-contd-live-updates.html' title='Day 6 Cont&apos;d: Live Updates'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-4812316470811965774</id><published>2008-03-07T01:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-07T01:16:57.868-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 6: TGIF</title><content type='html'>Today is Friday, and I'm about to go all ape shit up in this joint.  That's my new stupid phrase for party.  But for now, it's only 10 am, and I'm hoping to have some exciting live updates later on.  But right now--you can hear all about my night out on the town in Pest.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After dinner, Terron (no clue how to spell name at all) went out.  We hit up some place called "Old Man's Pub."  It was hot.  There were a ton of Euro dudes with MULLETS and yes, even a fanny pack.  And yes, he was Hungarian through and through.  It was hysterical.  I felt like I was at the Euro trash party all over again. Das Klub!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyways, some greaseball was in love with me.  We danced. Wait back up, he tried to become a 2nd skin to me.  It was insane.  Then Terron just runs off laughing.  I could have killed him.  All in all, though it was a good time.  Good beer, and I got hit on my a crap ton of sketchy guys, and two girls.  Out of control!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The best part--here's a drunk email to Karas:&lt;br /&gt;"I'm being molested bt european men with molested."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm awesome.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-4812316470811965774?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/4812316470811965774/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=4812316470811965774&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4812316470811965774'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4812316470811965774'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/day-6-tgif.html' title='Day 6: TGIF'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1274517747755925310</id><published>2008-03-06T10:11:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T17:24:36.709-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 5: Quickie</title><content type='html'>Hope the title didn't deceive you--no I didn't have a hot quickie with a cutie in the broom closet . . . yet. ha!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But it's official - John Lennon is married. Funny thing - his wife arrived today, and the ring magically went from pointer finger to ring finger. Very weird.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[REDACTED]&lt;br /&gt;Ok--sorry for lack of updates today. I've not had a lot of access to my computer. Too bad too--it was a crazy ass day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1274517747755925310?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1274517747755925310/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1274517747755925310&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1274517747755925310'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1274517747755925310'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/day-5-quickie.html' title='Day 5: Quickie'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7354391023893512542</id><published>2008-03-05T14:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-05T14:28:32.051-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Did all my dreams just come true?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://justjared.buzznet.com/images/2006/06/pierce-brosnan-kids00.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px;" src="http://justjared.buzznet.com/images/2006/06/pierce-brosnan-kids00.jpg" border="0" alt="" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pierce--my Pierce--on my top 5 Pierce--is a chubby chaser.  His wife isn't the thinnest, and he likes it!  I'm so in.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7354391023893512542?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7354391023893512542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7354391023893512542&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7354391023893512542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7354391023893512542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/did-all-my-dreams-just-come-true.html' title='Did all my dreams just come true?'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-9004785461985960767</id><published>2008-03-04T23:49:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T17:25:59.598-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Live Updates</title><content type='html'>6:05 pm&lt;br /&gt;Hungarian attorney just lifted her arms to stretch, and the BO about killed me. She could knock a vulture off a shit truck about 100 meters away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;[REDACTED]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3:45 pm to 5:07 pm&lt;br /&gt;The Stache did not stop talking for this entire period. Incredible! I think next time I will try to record his voice so you all can enjoy what I can. Another team member sat and gave me the evil eye b/c I have my iPod. Even screeching Def Lepp couldn't drown this guy out. That's right - I said Def Lepp.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2:50 pm&lt;br /&gt;FYI-Ladies. John Lennon still has the creepy 3/4 ring on his pointer finger. And he's wearing a black suit with white tennis shoes. I expect tomorrow's outfit will either have a keyboard tie or he'll go all out w/ tight rolled frosted jeans.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8:30 am&lt;br /&gt;Ok real quick--this shit just got crazy. The Stache is not even British--he just occasionally speaks in that accent b/c he just spent a few weeks in London. Holy poop! He's Britney/Madonna. I love this!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10:42 am&lt;br /&gt;To all my American friends who have traveled to Europe before--thanks A-holes for telling me that the toilet paper is like sandpaper here. No really, my bum thanks you. Seriously, what's the deal with this?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-9004785461985960767?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/9004785461985960767/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=9004785461985960767&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/9004785461985960767'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/9004785461985960767'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/live-updates.html' title='Live Updates'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-460077950698526240</id><published>2008-03-04T14:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-14T17:26:54.657-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 3: The Characters</title><content type='html'>I am now in my own world of "The Office." Allow me to introduce the characters:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The 'Stache - This guy is a British guy with a mad lisp. I originally thought him to be French, but oh no, he's British. The Lisp masks it. Anyways, he's about 5'5" and has a very special mustache. From afar it looks just like a regular mustache. But up close my friends, it's actually a mustache that closely surrounds his lips. Yes a border of hair to the lip if you will. And then separate from the merry-go-round stache is a gotee. It's quite impressive. He thinks he knows everything as well, and despite the lisp, can't get enough of his own voice. He's pretty awesome. He seriously waits for someone to talk and then runs, yes literally runs, right up and takes over. I have decided to mess with him constantly by asking completely irrelevant questions just to see if he has an answer. Oh the Stache of power.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;John Lennon - this is a giant version of John Lennon, whose only purpose in life is simply to arrange tables. I have never seen anything like this since Trading Spaces. He even at one point stopped our IT guys to see if they could get him a screwdriver, so he could take a part desks in order to best maximize space. It's awesome. Meanwhile, my team just sat comfortably, not helping at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good Ole Southern Boy with Nickname TBD: [REDACTED]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until I get more creative to come up with characters for the rest of the folk, you'll just have to wait. Oh hold up - there's me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The chubby giggling girl: I literally am so tickled by all of these people and my hilarious emails to various people throughout the day about them that I laugh out loud. People constantly stare and I have to apologize. It's cool though--at least I'm laughing!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok now onto the Setting:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm in a room about 20 by 20, if that. There will be a total of 17 of us--ridiculous! Right now there's about 10, and it's already stinky and hot. Yes, this furniture is so old that it has stale fart smell permanently on it. It's pretty awesome! Half of the chairs have some horrible white stain on its turquoise fabric. I'll leave that one to you guys. And now with all the people, it's really hot and stinky. To top that off, the European attorneys don't wear deodorant. Again--this is why I laugh out loud. And oh, the doors are made out of cheap particle boards. I was telling B earlier that I feel like the Incredible Hulk every time I open one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Food:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything has either gravy or potatoes involved, or both. It's pretty awesome! We actually saw a Chinese restaurant nearby and thought - yum General Tso's Potatoes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With all of this said, please keep in mind that my life is fabulous right now. The city is gorgeous, the people are awesome, the food/wine are to die for--but you know me, I gotta find something to pick at.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Check back in for the soap opera that is my life.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-460077950698526240?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/460077950698526240/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=460077950698526240&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/460077950698526240'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/460077950698526240'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/day-3-characters.html' title='Day 3: The Characters'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7819309431996694416</id><published>2008-03-02T07:04:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-03-02T07:11:26.331-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Day 1: Arrival</title><content type='html'>I'm here!  And I just have to tell you that the flight over was A-MAZING!  Business class is the way to go.  I mean I had so much room, my seat reclined every which way, and it massaged.  Hellooo (or Hallowww now that I'm here).  Then, I ate insanely good food, watched movies--things I do every day, but I was in a plane.  I can't wait for the flight home. Oh, and before I even flew out--the business lounge.  Dear Jeebus!  The food, the drinks, the everything.  Kind of makes me hate rich people though--just a little bit.   &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, Budapest is pretty cool.  I mean I've only seen the streets from the taxi.  It's raining, I'm tired--and well, I'll be here forever, so no rush right?  My room is really nice too.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the best part--I'm totally doing fine with the accents.  Other than I can't get them to stop calling me "Mrs. Neal."  Oh well, maybe some hot Hungarian dude will find it cool to have an affair with an American woman.  In that case, "Mrs." away.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Off to enjoy my jet lag, and maybe dance around some more.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7819309431996694416?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7819309431996694416/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7819309431996694416&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7819309431996694416'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7819309431996694416'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/03/day-1-arrival.html' title='Day 1: Arrival'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-3544949405088091931</id><published>2008-02-28T22:01:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T22:04:15.571-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sweeet</title><content type='html'>So I've been practicing some "European" dance moves--you know, I need to fit in at the discotech yo.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/t5XN-yiAj0Y"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/t5XN-yiAj0Y" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm picturing the scene now--it's a lot like Patrick Dempsey in "Can't Buy Me Love."  You know-he thinks he's watching Soul Train, but it's really some PBS african dance thing or something.  Super!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-3544949405088091931?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/3544949405088091931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=3544949405088091931&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3544949405088091931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3544949405088091931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/sweeet.html' title='Sweeet'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-3914537387223767412</id><published>2008-02-28T18:22:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-28T21:34:48.528-08:00</updated><title type='text'>HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATE!</title><content type='html'>In honor of Kate's birthday, I thought I'd post something that's near and dear to the both of us.  Kate, you are by far the most "simple, elegant, beautiful" woman I know.  I miss you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/mtkd7YS4Gg8"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/mtkd7YS4Gg8" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I wish I could stop the video at about 2:12, but hey.  So Kate--here's to you.  I hope that today was great, and that the LOTM soundtrack played loudly everywhere you went!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-3914537387223767412?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/3914537387223767412/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=3914537387223767412&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3914537387223767412'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3914537387223767412'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/happy-birthday-kate.html' title='HAPPY BIRTHDAY KATE!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7021613801867366467</id><published>2008-02-27T20:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-27T20:42:02.315-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Tim has the herp!</title><content type='html'>Just a real quick post before bed . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tonight on Project Runway, Tim Gunn totally had the herp when he went to visit Rami.  It in no way reflects negatively on him--I still love him.  But seriously Bravo--do you not have a make-up crew? Can you not angle the shoot in a way that the side of his face with the giant herpe sore is not on screen?  I mean really - they can practically make giant pregnant ladies look not so pregnant, but PR's director and people can't make a tiny herpe sore "disappear?"  Seriously.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7021613801867366467?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7021613801867366467/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7021613801867366467&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7021613801867366467'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7021613801867366467'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/tim-has-herp.html' title='Tim has the herp!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-379448614973812621</id><published>2008-02-25T21:13:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-25T21:30:12.760-08:00</updated><title type='text'>European Me Update</title><content type='html'>So I leave very soon for Budapest.  I just found out that I may be there for 2 months now, and will NOT have to work weekends.  Holla!  That means, I get to travel on the weekends, and I just about peed myself thinking about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, I still plan to see as much of Hungary that I can.  I mean, I'm practically living there now.  So I bought a book with some Hungarian phrases.  Not b/c I think I'll even learn a shred of Hungarian, but b/c listening to me try to pronouce is Hi-larious!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's some gems for you to learn--and if you can pronounce, call me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-------------------------&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Where's a campground?&lt;/em&gt;  (No, Burke and Khang, I won't really go camping)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hol van egy kemping?  &lt;em&gt;Hawl von ej kem-ping.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Can you recommend somewhere romantic?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tud ajanlani egy romantikus helyet?  &lt;em&gt;Tud o-yann-lo-ni ej raw-mon-ti-kush he-yet?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;I never want to see you again.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Saha tobbe nem akarlak latni.  &lt;em&gt;Shaw-ho teub-bay nem 0-kor-lok laat-ni.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do you mind if I breast feed here?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Megengedi, hogy itt szoptassak?  &lt;em&gt;Meg-en-ge-di hawj itt sawp-tosh-shok?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Do you like thermal baths?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Szereted a gyogyfurdoket?  &lt;em&gt;Se-re-ted o dyawj-fewr-deu-ket?&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;---------------------------------------&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really like how the pronunciation help isn't really helpful.  "Dyawj" = "WTF?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is going to be an awesome hot mess.  The best hot mess.  And Niki--the guy who looks like Jake G. is going with me--life is so good right now!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-379448614973812621?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/379448614973812621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=379448614973812621&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/379448614973812621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/379448614973812621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/european-me-update.html' title='European Me Update'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7693068865584236482</id><published>2008-02-21T21:17:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-21T21:22:47.299-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Budapest Here I Come!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;I'm going to Budapest for a month--NEXT WEEKEND! Holy crap! I have so much to prepare for. I'm so excited though! I heart my job right now. And I could post all about what I plan to see, blah blah blah. But no--I'll leave you with something that made me laugh today. Damn I love T Rex!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5169670666299871842" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R75cFLaPkmI/AAAAAAAAAFs/0CFjRJaTS3Y/s400/poop+trex.png" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7693068865584236482?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7693068865584236482/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7693068865584236482&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7693068865584236482'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7693068865584236482'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/budapest-here-i-come.html' title='Budapest Here I Come!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp3.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R75cFLaPkmI/AAAAAAAAAFs/0CFjRJaTS3Y/s72-c/poop+trex.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-2618660188068173429</id><published>2008-02-20T22:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-20T22:26:28.284-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Drunk posting is fun!</title><content type='html'>So I totally drank -- on a school night.  Yes, school nights will never die!  Anyways, please forgive any crassness or typos my dear dear friends.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I had to post b/c today I had thought to myself that I would post about the great boy bands of my time.  I read an article about the top 25 duets of all time, which got me thinking about the best boy bands.  Well then lo and behold, after volleyball tonight, we all went out.  Then, Dave totally put on "Faded" by Soul Decision--the very same band I had mentioned was one of my favorite one hit wonder boy bands!  Crazy!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I ask you to tell me your favorite boy bands.  Here are some of mine:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Backstreet Boys--greatest!&lt;br /&gt;Soul Decision&lt;br /&gt;Bell Biv Devoe - yes they are technically a boy band&lt;br /&gt;Boyz II Men&lt;br /&gt;Color Me Badd&lt;br /&gt;Jodeci&lt;br /&gt;N'Sync&lt;br /&gt;NKOTB--wha wha!&lt;br /&gt;Menudo-- I don't know any of their songs either, but it's fuckin' Menudo yo!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let's give it up for some of our favorite boy bands, their awesome dance moves, and quite possibly the lamest post ever!  Holla!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-2618660188068173429?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/2618660188068173429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=2618660188068173429&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2618660188068173429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2618660188068173429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/drunk-posting-is-fun.html' title='Drunk posting is fun!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7793836492120668642</id><published>2008-02-18T20:48:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-19T20:15:40.417-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Snoop's "Father Hood"</title><content type='html'>Oh me, I found the best show ever yesterday -- Snoop Dogg's "Father Hood." It's a reality show that follows the home life of none other than Snoop. It's fantastic! The first thing you'll notice about the show is that Snoop lives in a very ordinary rich hosue -- like something you and I could potentially live in some day. His kids are hilarious, and his wife is great. But the best part is Snoop himself. He sits in this backyard shed type thing, playing video games on those white plastic lawn chairs that we all have. His closet is packed full of clothes, except it mostly consists of jerseys, fur coats, and a ridiculous amount of cash. Very much like my own. Anyways, I am posting about this not only to get you to watch the show too, but also b/c the best parenting advice ever was given on the show. Snoop wanted his kids to see what life was like for him, so he takes them to the hood where he grew up. They go to his cousin's house--and Niki--Snoop and this cousin are DOUBLE FIRST cousins. That's right, Snoop's mom and dad are the brother/sister of cousin's mom and dad. Specifically, Snoop's dad was cousin's mom brother, and Snoop's mom was cousin's dad little sister. That's so confusing to type. Moving on . . .&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While at the cousin's house, they start talking about how they got beat as kids, etc. Then, the cousin gives his sons some advice:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Don't touch the pipe. Don't touch another man's dick. Don't suck another man's dick. Never suck your own dick."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7793836492120668642?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7793836492120668642/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7793836492120668642&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7793836492120668642'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7793836492120668642'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/snoops-father-hood.html' title='Snoop&apos;s &quot;Father Hood&quot;'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-5265630250008470357</id><published>2008-02-18T20:45:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-18T20:45:56.715-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Shitzenfest '08</title><content type='html'>Well my girls came up this weekend.  We had a blast!  This post is a teaser post just letting you know that more excellent posts about this weekend will follow. . .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-5265630250008470357?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/5265630250008470357/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=5265630250008470357&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5265630250008470357'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5265630250008470357'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/shitzenfest-08.html' title='Shitzenfest &apos;08'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-324541855594753558</id><published>2008-02-14T16:45:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-14T17:07:05.567-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sum Yourself Up in Six Words!</title><content type='html'>I came across one of the coolest books the other day. It's called &lt;a href="http://www.smithmag.net/sixwords/"&gt;"Not Quite What I Was Planning: Six Word Memoirs."&lt;/a&gt; The basis of the book stems from Hemingway's shortest short story: "For sale: baby shoes, never worn." The editors had both famous and "obscure" people write their memoirs is only six words, no more and no less.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am simply intrigued by this idea. I think it's absolute genius. Here are some examples from others from the website linked above:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Married with children (and second thoughts.)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Hot tongue followed by cold shoulder.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Dogperson became catlady; now cat's gone.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Fifteen years of therapy for this?!&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Missed today while planning for tomorrow.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Always wishing I was their dog.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-family:georgia;"&gt;Still love horses more than boys.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Brought it to a boil, often. ~Mario Batali&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thought I would have more impact.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bad reputation. Such a good girl.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ex-wife and contractor now have home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mistakenly kills kittens. Fears anything delicate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After Harvard, had baby with crackhead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, what a fantastic idea! Did you also notice that most of these six-word memoirs are sad? They just simply say so much even though they use so few words. Touching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I've been trying to think of what my six-word memoir would be. I came up with two that sort of sum up a large part of my adult-life, which for me, each says volumes. They are:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Still say "when I grow up."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In his bed, out the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I know that the 2nd one is a little risque, but the meaning is behind the words for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started talking with my officemate about this, and we decided that it might at first be easier to sum up different periods of our lives in only six words. Here a few we came up with, and no, I won't tell you who wrote each one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On pre-teen age:&lt;br /&gt;Threw up at busstop. Everyone laughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On high school:&lt;br /&gt;Fell in love; graduated number one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On college:&lt;br /&gt;Letting go of all I knew.&lt;br /&gt;Finding true love. Finding it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On law school:&lt;br /&gt;Left with degree, but mostly regrets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On whole life in general:&lt;br /&gt;Dreaming too much, thinking too little.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I now challenge you to come up with your very own six-word memoir. I then double dare you to share it with me! Have fun!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-324541855594753558?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/324541855594753558/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=324541855594753558&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/324541855594753558'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/324541855594753558'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/sum-yourself-up-in-six-words.html' title='Sum Yourself Up in Six Words!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-3162430404131511521</id><published>2008-02-10T17:26:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-10T18:34:43.267-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Hear Us Roar!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.businessweek.com/careers/workingparents/blog/archives/sex%20and%20the%20city.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.businessweek.com/careers/workingparents/blog/archives/sex%20and%20the%20city.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Ok--I just have to say that I'm noticing a (quite obvious) trend as of late--women are everywhere! It seems like every new show is about a group of 3 or 5 women, who don't need anyone but each other in their lives. Now it seems that &lt;em&gt;Sex in the City&lt;/em&gt; started this trend . . . or did it? Has this always been a "trend" and &lt;em&gt;Sex in the City&lt;/em&gt; just finally made a series based on the importance of female friendships? I mean, we all know that women are supposed to hate other women, but are times a changing? I know for me personally, my lifeline is my girlfriends. They are my family, my soul mates. I have my very own Carrie, Samantha, Miranda, and Charlottes.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;br /&gt;Now we have new shows like &lt;em&gt;Cashmere Mafia&lt;/em&gt; and &lt;em&gt;Lipstick Jungle -- &lt;/em&gt;both shows based on the same idea - a group of all powerful women, who can get what they want when they want it. Men come and go, but the gal pals are forever constant. While these shows are mainly ridiculous, I do find myself relating to them more and more. I guess I'm just wondering if these shows are changing the way women view themselves and fellow chicks, or is TV finally reflecting reality? (The egg or the chicken question.) Either way, I think it's become less and less acceptable to hate every woman that is around me. Instead, I no longer want to compete with them, or whatever, but befriend them--well just not hate them. Now don't get me wrong, I still have secret desires of giving a makeover to some women who just need someone to say "sister, come with me, your hair is tragic." That's not hate though--it's pure love. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;         &lt;a href="http://www.news.com.au/common/imagedata/0,,5504754,00.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 237px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 137px" height="137" alt="" src="http://www.news.com.au/common/imagedata/0,,5504754,00.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;                                       &lt;img style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.latimes.com/media/photo/2008-02/35311263.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;Anyways, I think my overall feeling towards this message of woman power is positive. I mean, the world has constantly joked that women truly rule the world. And while that may not have been entirely true, it seems we're heading that way. (Maybe even literally--Go Hillary!) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-3162430404131511521?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/3162430404131511521/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=3162430404131511521&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3162430404131511521'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/3162430404131511521'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/hear-us-roar.html' title='Hear Us Roar!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-4350305800422160530</id><published>2008-02-10T17:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-10T17:26:22.792-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My future kid!</title><content type='html'>&lt;p&gt;&lt;object height="373" width="425"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/7-AB1ZNkB5M&amp;amp;rel=1&amp;amp;border=1"&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/7-AB1ZNkB5M&amp;rel=1&amp;border=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="373"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt;I definitely know a certain someone who could fill this costume out . . . ha!&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-4350305800422160530?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/4350305800422160530/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=4350305800422160530&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4350305800422160530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4350305800422160530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-future-kid.html' title='My future kid!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-4241660286511596916</id><published>2008-02-04T21:16:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-04T21:23:03.777-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm in Love!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://artgyrl.com/pics/columbus.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://artgyrl.com/pics/columbus.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Alright, I'll admit it--I watched &lt;em&gt;Stomp the Yard&lt;/em&gt; tonight. It was fantastic! And the lead guy is my new #1. I'm simply in love with him.  I wish I could link you to his voice now, b/c that would seal the deal for you too.  But--regardless of how you feel about cheesy dance movies, you must watch him.  I mean, I just read on Wikipedia that he's also the lead in &lt;em&gt;Save the Last Dance II&lt;/em&gt;, so I'll be watching that straight to DVD disaster.  The things you do for love . . . &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.fangasm.com/media/Image/columbus%20short.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.fangasm.com/media/Image/columbus%20short.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-4241660286511596916?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/4241660286511596916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=4241660286511596916&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4241660286511596916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4241660286511596916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/im-in-love.html' title='I&apos;m in Love!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8686438180887606842</id><published>2008-02-02T06:39:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-02-02T06:44:18.145-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Very Own Separated At Birth</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;a href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R6SBG0jfyZI/AAAAAAAAAFU/qcdkUtjR-8o/s1600-h/kirstie+alley.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5162393027060156818" style="WIDTH: 334px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" height="240" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R6SBG0jfyZI/AAAAAAAAAFU/qcdkUtjR-8o/s320/kirstie+alley.jpg" width="204" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;a href="http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://www.jimhillmedia.com/mb/images/upload/ursula-2.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8686438180887606842?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8686438180887606842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8686438180887606842&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8686438180887606842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8686438180887606842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/02/my-very-own-separated-at-birth.html' title='My Very Own Separated At Birth'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_oqnIClnYtDY/R6SBG0jfyZI/AAAAAAAAAFU/qcdkUtjR-8o/s72-c/kirstie+alley.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-5802356627914310846</id><published>2008-01-21T12:44:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T13:02:51.332-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Scientology and Me</title><content type='html'>So Niki recently posted some of her responses to some of the questions asked on the Scientology questionnaire. She "challenged" her readers to answer some questions themselves. You too can play. &lt;a href="http://radaronline.com/exclusives/2008/01/tom-cruise-scientology-sec-whole-track-questionnaire.php#more"&gt;Radar&lt;/a&gt;Online provides some sampling, and I've chosen some of my favorites questions.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Have you ever torn out someone's tongue?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only in my dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Have you ever consistently practiced sex in some unnatural fashion?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Have you systematically set up mysteries? &lt;/strong&gt;Next question: &lt;strong&gt;Have you ever made a practice of confusing people?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Enough said)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Have you ever smothered a baby?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only with love. Seriously though - what answer are they looking for here?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Have you ever exterminated a species?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, my sophomore year of college, Kate and I had a crazy infestation of lady bugs. It was insane! So we actually did have to start vacuuming them up. I know that sounds cruel, but it was ridiculous. So yes, I guess I am evil.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Have you ever made love to a dead body?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;No, but I have had sex with someone with no soul. Is that worse?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Have you ever castrated anyone?&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Again, only in my dreams.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-5802356627914310846?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/5802356627914310846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=5802356627914310846&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5802356627914310846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/5802356627914310846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/01/scientology-and-me.html' title='Scientology and Me'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8799656483438566890</id><published>2008-01-21T11:55:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-21T12:06:37.424-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Teeth</title><content type='html'>You must watch the trailer for the new movie,"&lt;a href="http://movies.go.com/trailer?cid=927267&amp;amp;vid=927268"&gt;Teeth&lt;/a&gt;."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did you watch it? Ok--let's discuss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This may be the greatest movie of all time. How hilarious? I mean c'mon--her vajayjay has teeth. Why didn't I think of this? You know all those times when someone asks you "if you could have a super power, what would it be?" I usually replied with flying or the ability to read minds. No, no my friends--I now want a vagina with teeth. I mean seriously--my M.O. would be to roam the world looking for evil men who are mean to women or just plain assholes, and then I'd seduce them. Just as soon as they thought they were about to get some, BOOM - my vajayjay bites off their weiners. Hilarious!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I could still have that super power angst where I can never really love someone and have a normal life b/c I'm stuck with this burden/power to do good. Always alone. I'd wear a long trench coat and sunglasses, and of course, crotchless panties. Then, I do hysterical things like tend bar during the "day" when I'm not fighting crime, and open beer bottles w/ my vagina.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The fun would never end . . .&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-8799656483438566890?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8799656483438566890/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8799656483438566890&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8799656483438566890'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8799656483438566890'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/01/teeth.html' title='Teeth'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8251009647488025014</id><published>2008-01-20T11:59:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-20T11:59:54.930-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My commercial</title><content type='html'>Khang sent me this commercial, saying that it was made with me in mind.  He knows me so well!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/qb47OmMtGaE&amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/qb47OmMtGaE&amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&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/6031934682129658750-8251009647488025014?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8251009647488025014/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8251009647488025014&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8251009647488025014'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8251009647488025014'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-commercial.html' title='My commercial'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-7422726557523660505</id><published>2008-01-14T19:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-14T20:01:42.401-08:00</updated><title type='text'>18 year old boys</title><content type='html'>I saw a picture of some very young soldiers today.  They were most likely 18 or 19-year olds.  "Irregardless" (as Karas incorrectly says) - they were hot!  And as H and I objectified these young boys, we got to talking about how it's okay, if not expected, for guys our age to think 18-year old girls are hot!  So it should be okay for us to think that 18-year old boys are hot!  How about a little equality here.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That led to the conversation about the disgustingly perverted sayings that men have for young girls- like "if there's grass on the field, play ball."  But we didn't know of any equivalent sayings for women to use about just legal boys.  So we made some up.  And now I'd like to share with you these super pervy sayings for you to incorporate into your daily life:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. If he can vote, he can poke.&lt;br /&gt;2. If there's a happy trail, you can ride that rail.&lt;br /&gt;3. If he's a tenor or bass, there's no criminal case.&lt;br /&gt;4. If there's hair on his chin, move on in.&lt;br /&gt;5. If there's hair on his face, no time to waste.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you think of any others--let me know!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-7422726557523660505?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/7422726557523660505/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=7422726557523660505&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7422726557523660505'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/7422726557523660505'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/01/18-year-old-boys.html' title='18 year old boys'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-4003535259891131192</id><published>2008-01-09T18:10:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-09T18:11:35.702-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Sad but true. . .</title><content type='html'>Khang recently summed up just how people like me and him are:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Some people watch movies.  We judge."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to, but I love that!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-4003535259891131192?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/4003535259891131192/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=4003535259891131192&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4003535259891131192'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/4003535259891131192'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/01/sad-but-true.html' title='Sad but true. . .'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1326083369895332819</id><published>2008-01-07T20:43:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-07T20:49:43.851-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Chuck Norris has nothing on these guys!</title><content type='html'>After watching 2 straight days of "American Gladiators," here's what Burke and I did around the living room.  hahaha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ps - No sound necessary, although it does add to the hilarity!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/612aGaeVuW4&amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/612aGaeVuW4&amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&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/6031934682129658750-1326083369895332819?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1326083369895332819/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1326083369895332819&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1326083369895332819'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1326083369895332819'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/01/chuck-norris-has-nothing-on-these-guys.html' title='Chuck Norris has nothing on these guys!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-8530719962847616476</id><published>2008-01-07T20:40:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-07T20:42:52.416-08:00</updated><title type='text'>OSU Fan</title><content type='html'>I'm convinced this will be my friend Matt in 25 years (all for you Kate!).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ps - need volume for this one!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="355"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/NUB5tWBuAJU&amp;rel=1"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="wmode" value="transparent"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/NUB5tWBuAJU&amp;rel=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" wmode="transparent" width="425" height="355"&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/6031934682129658750-8530719962847616476?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/8530719962847616476/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=8530719962847616476&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8530719962847616476'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/8530719962847616476'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/01/osu-fan.html' title='OSU Fan'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-1509510015537093144</id><published>2008-01-06T20:28:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-06T20:30:57.208-08:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm 12.</title><content type='html'>Marge: Homer! There's someone here who can help you...&lt;br /&gt;Homer: Is it Batman?&lt;br /&gt;Marge: No, he's a scientist.&lt;br /&gt;Homer: Batman's a scientist?!&lt;br /&gt;Marge: It's not Batman!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Homer: Are you saying you're never going to eat any animal again? What about bacon?&lt;br /&gt;Lisa: No.&lt;br /&gt;Homer: Ham?&lt;br /&gt;Lisa: No.&lt;br /&gt;Homer: Pork chops?&lt;br /&gt;Lisa: Dad, those all come from the same animal.&lt;br /&gt;Homer: Heh heh heh. Ooh, yeah, right, Lisa. A wonderful, magical animal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ralph: I ate the blue ones ... they taste like burning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ralph:"Then, the doctor told me that BOTH my eyes were lazy! And that's why it was the best summer ever."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-1509510015537093144?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/1509510015537093144/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=1509510015537093144&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1509510015537093144'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/1509510015537093144'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/01/im-12.html' title='I&apos;m 12.'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-428902143498261631</id><published>2008-01-06T20:25:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-06T20:26:40.961-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Back to the Pink</title><content type='html'>You know--I didn't like the new look at all.  I just love the pink!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I have found other templates for this site, but I can't get them to work.  Until I do--we're stuck w/ the pink.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And Niki--I have class.  Just not the normal kind-ha!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-428902143498261631?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/428902143498261631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=428902143498261631&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/428902143498261631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/428902143498261631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/01/back-to-pink.html' title='Back to the Pink'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6031934682129658750.post-2826475669152844389</id><published>2008-01-06T20:14:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2008-01-06T20:24:51.755-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The 80s are coming back!</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;&lt;div&gt;And thank God! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;I just spent 2 hours watching "American Gladiators." It was p-h-e-n-o-m-e-n-a-l! I so loved that show as a child, and now, I can enjoy it as a fat adult child. YES! &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;If you didn't watch it--you need to. I mean Hulk Hogan is hosting. He said "brother" no fewer that 982 times. His pants were ridiculously tight, causing Burke to be traumatized by his camel tail. His hair was creepy straight. And as always, he was orange and yellow. Love it!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;On tonight's show, one contestant randomly bit while running, causing an injury knocking her out of the game. Burke and I of course rewound the playback of her biting it, over and over. I love DVR! Another guy took an awesome shot to the ass w/ the tennis ball shooting game thingy. It was great!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://www.pmpnetwork.com/photos8/AmericanGladiatorsCastPhoto.jpg" border="0" /&gt; And oh--Helga, the big ass woman, is just that- a big ass woman. Not really scary at all. Kind of like me. haha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;And then--Knight Rider is coming back. Yes, I said Knight Rider. As in Kitt and the Hoff, only we'll have a new Hoff. And the voice of Kitt is Will Arnet - awesome! I may explode.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;img style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 194px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 249px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" height="249" alt="" src="http://miamiherald.typepad.com/photos/uncategorized/2007/09/28/knightrider.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6031934682129658750-2826475669152844389?l=wannareadred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/feeds/2826475669152844389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6031934682129658750&amp;postID=2826475669152844389&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2826475669152844389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6031934682129658750/posts/default/2826475669152844389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://wannareadred.blogspot.com/2008/01/80s-are-coming-back.html' title='The 80s are coming back!'/><author><name>Red</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08828353067328861552</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
