<?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-8584959343543660239</id><updated>2011-11-27T16:43:35.536-07:00</updated><title type='text'>as jessica's world turns</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>164</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-8435972496383379623</id><published>2009-07-29T20:37:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-29T20:57:20.752-06:00</updated><title type='text'>La Caille.  Finally.</title><content type='html'>I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;knew&lt;/span&gt; I'd done things worth blogging about since June 19th...  There was the &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/knickyb/sets/72157621763634429/detail/"&gt;Arts Fest&lt;/a&gt; and &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/knickyb/sets/72157621763745437/detail/"&gt;4th of July fireworks&lt;/a&gt; on the 5th of July...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the thing I was logging on to mention today was my first trip to &lt;a href="http://www.lacaille.com/"&gt;La Caille&lt;/a&gt;.  Crystal ran a contest for hors-d' ouevres and dessert, and Annie, Sarah, and I &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SnELAAIFX1I/AAAAAAAAAMU/dy-PAyS3j_M/s1600-h/2009-07-27+20.40.03.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 110px; height: 147px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SnELAAIFX1I/AAAAAAAAAMU/dy-PAyS3j_M/s200/2009-07-27+20.40.03.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364080725836783442" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;qualified.  In almost 18 years of living in Salt Lake City, I had never even pulled onto the driveway leading up to the restaurant.  Its beautiful!&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SnELQ0pHzsI/AAAAAAAAAMc/htUu9U0J_Js/s1600-h/2009-07-27+20.40.51.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 126px; height: 168px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SnELQ0pHzsI/AAAAAAAAAMc/htUu9U0J_Js/s200/2009-07-27+20.40.51.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5364081014811905730" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;  We were seated on the patio, where peacocks, ducks, and a rooster just roam around while you eat.  There were baby ducks and baby peacocks that were so cute.  The grown-up peacocks were a little intimidating, though - one even helped himself to the bread in our bread basket.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I tried escargot.  I was really hesitant.  I mean, it looked like tar coming out of the shell.  But, taste...delicious. Still, consistency...disgusting.  If I'm ever offered escargot again, I'm thinking consistency might win.  But I tried it, and that's all that matters.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-8435972496383379623?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/8435972496383379623/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=8435972496383379623' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8435972496383379623'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8435972496383379623'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/07/la-caille-finally.html' title='La Caille.  Finally.'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SnELAAIFX1I/AAAAAAAAAMU/dy-PAyS3j_M/s72-c/2009-07-27+20.40.03.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-8723221049455986526</id><published>2009-07-25T21:26:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-07-25T21:42:35.200-06:00</updated><title type='text'>June 19th???</title><content type='html'>I seriously haven't blogged since June 19th???  I don't think its for lack of blog fodder.  I'm sure I've been doing stuff worthy of reporting.  Maybe I've been distracted by twitter.  Although I haven't tweeted in a while either.  Huh.  I don't know.  But I can be better.  I think.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Like, today, for example, I volunteered for the Food Co-op.  That was fun.  I met Aimee at the warehouse, loaded my trunk with meat, and took it to the park.  We unloaded the cars, and then went down the line of food to build the shares.  It was a much sweatier job than I anticipated.  But I really enjoyed it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My favorite part was the following conversation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;aimee:&lt;/span&gt;  Hi.  What's your last name?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;maeve:&lt;/span&gt;  Knickerbocker.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;aimee [shocked]:  &lt;/span&gt;Really???  Do you know Jessica???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;maeve:&lt;/span&gt;  I'm Maeve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;aimee:&lt;/span&gt;  Oh my gosh.  I'm so embarrassed.  I mean, I knew I knew all of the Knickerbockers.  I couldn't believe there was another one in Salt Lake City.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was right after I was kissing on Miles in the line.  I mentioned to Aimee that I was sure she had seen that.  She said that she noticed the line was getting a little riled up, thought I was just providing excellent customer service and easing any tension by kissing all the babies.  I mean, it does sound like a good tactic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-8723221049455986526?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/8723221049455986526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=8723221049455986526' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8723221049455986526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8723221049455986526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/07/june-19th.html' title='June 19th???'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5217576927442165696</id><published>2009-06-19T13:21:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-19T13:27:20.811-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Afraid</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;I think when you smile like this in your &lt;a href="http://www.ksl.com/?nid=148&amp;amp;sid=6873259"&gt;mugshot&lt;/a&gt;, &lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349121844882320434" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 169px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/Sjvl-iB-LDI/AAAAAAAAAMM/z1FGcICmsp4/s320/12172026.jpg" border="0" /&gt;it makes you even scarier.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5217576927442165696?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5217576927442165696/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5217576927442165696' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5217576927442165696'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5217576927442165696'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/06/afraid.html' title='Afraid'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/Sjvl-iB-LDI/AAAAAAAAAMM/z1FGcICmsp4/s72-c/12172026.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-8799690159852768451</id><published>2009-06-17T22:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-17T22:46:44.485-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bummer(s)</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SjnAOnZEISI/AAAAAAAAAL8/W_uVj7YKTSw/s1600-h/P6180001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SjnAOnZEISI/AAAAAAAAAL8/W_uVj7YKTSw/s320/P6180001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5348517389803987234" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;It all started with this egg.  I dropped it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dropped it right on the edge of the kitchen mat.  I guess there could be worse places to drop an egg.  At least this way I could fold the mat like a taco and pour the egg into the sink.  I almost made it to the sink.  Almost.  At the end of my approach, about four feet from the floor, the stupid yolk just rolled on off the mat and splattered.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dammit.  I hate cleaning.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dealt with that situation, finished up with my cookie dough, and searched high and low for the cookie sheet.  In the drawer under the oven...  In the cabinet with the pots and pans...  In the dishwasher...  (Dave wouldn't put the cookie sheet in the dishwasher, would he?)  Then it occurred to me, I had been pre-heating the oven and it smelled like something was cooking.  The day before yesterday, we used the cookie sheet to make asparagus.  I bet the cookie sheet never got cleaned, and is pre-heating in the oven.  So I washed a 375 degree cookie sheet with a brush and a potholder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward a couple of hours.  Our marketing event at the training center was fun.  The cookies were a big hit.  Crystal sent me home with two leftover pizzas and a 2-liter of root beer.  I went outside into a torrential downpour.  I stepped off the sidewalk and the water in the parking lot rushed over the top of my shoes and filled them with water.  Delicious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got home about 20 minutes later, after having blown my feet dry with the heater, and was lugging my two bags, two pizzas, 2-liter of root beer, and empty cookie platter up the stairs when I tripped.  I fell.  Luckily I was far enough up the stairs for the pizzas and platter to land on the top step without much turmoil.  The root beer rolled across the porch.  I hit my forearms on the concrete stairs.  I laid there hoping Dave heard me and would come out and help me up.  Then I wondered if I really wanted Dave to see me lying on the stairs.  So I started getting up just as Dave came out to see what the ruckus was about.  Great.  Best of both worlds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worst must be over, right?  I am in jammies, after all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-8799690159852768451?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/8799690159852768451/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=8799690159852768451' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8799690159852768451'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8799690159852768451'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/06/bummers.html' title='Bummer(s)'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SjnAOnZEISI/AAAAAAAAAL8/W_uVj7YKTSw/s72-c/P6180001.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7833735204839582906</id><published>2009-06-11T22:49:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-11T23:02:47.542-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Babies!  For Real This Time!</title><content type='html'>Remember &lt;a href="http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/05/babies-in-my-backyard.html"&gt;the baby ducks I saw in my backyard&lt;/a&gt;?  And how I thought they were gone forever?  I was on my morning walk the other morning, and happened upon the whole family!  Look how cute and fuzzy they are!&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SjHfC541kkI/AAAAAAAAALs/FCnu534zSKA/s1600-h/1242401531404.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SjHfC541kkI/AAAAAAAAALs/FCnu534zSKA/s400/1242401531404.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346299473657434690" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Daddy duck even came out for this stroll, although he was none too happy with me, and kept his distance.  Whatever.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SjHfISy5KiI/AAAAAAAAAL0/4up8_O5bH6s/s1600-h/1242401541491.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SjHfISy5KiI/AAAAAAAAAL0/4up8_O5bH6s/s400/1242401541491.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5346299566242736674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-7833735204839582906?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7833735204839582906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7833735204839582906' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7833735204839582906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7833735204839582906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/06/remember-baby-ducks-i-saw-in-my.html' title='Babies!  For Real This Time!'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SjHfC541kkI/AAAAAAAAALs/FCnu534zSKA/s72-c/1242401531404.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-8039158134241109536</id><published>2009-06-10T18:21:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-10T18:37:01.311-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Road Rage</title><content type='html'>Dear Other Drivers on the Freeway,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We're all in a hurry, right?  But if you could just &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;back off&lt;/span&gt; a little bit, I would greatly appreciate it.  I don't know if you realize this, but I can only go as fast as the car in front of me.  And I'm not totally convinced that putting my front bumper into their trunk is going to encourage them, or anyone in front of them, to speed up.  I know it doesn't work on me.  I mean, when you come right up behind me and ride my ass, I'm actually inclined to slow down even more.  Reason being, I like to provide myself (and you, if I have to) with some reaction time, so that if something unfortunate does happen, I don't literally put my front bumper into someone's trunk.  I've been on the receiving end of that ordeal, and it really wasn't cool.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On top of that, if I am going too slow for you, may I point out that there are at least two more lanes to the left of us in which you can pass me.  So feel free to change lanes &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;before&lt;/span&gt; you get dangerously close to me, and then go ahead and rush by.  I'm cool with that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you,&lt;br /&gt;Jessica&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-8039158134241109536?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/8039158134241109536/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=8039158134241109536' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8039158134241109536'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8039158134241109536'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/06/road-rage.html' title='Road Rage'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7083414273398292811</id><published>2009-06-04T16:44:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2009-06-04T17:02:46.156-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Paragliding</title><content type='html'>A couple of weeks ago I was heading down to Draper to make a delivery.  I had to get off at the 14600 South exit. As I was exiting the freeway, I noticed a whole bunch of paragliders.  I knew they jumped off the mountain down there, but I didn't realize that like 20 of them went at once.  I don't get down that way very often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SihQvt06b_I/AAAAAAAAALM/roA_VplobW0/s1600-h/P5140001.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SihQvt06b_I/AAAAAAAAALM/roA_VplobW0/s400/P5140001.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343609738560696306" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;As I was getting to my customers house, I realized how close she lives to the top of the paragliding mountain.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SihRUB8Bf2I/AAAAAAAAALU/1uX-YKk8oRc/s1600-h/P5140020.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SihRUB8Bf2I/AAAAAAAAALU/1uX-YKk8oRc/s400/P5140020.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343610362434518882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Then I realized that I could go into the neighborhood across the street from her neighborhood and be right underneath of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SihRpBVbXOI/AAAAAAAAALc/fM4HGLVJvJQ/s1600-h/P5140025.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SihRpBVbXOI/AAAAAAAAALc/fM4HGLVJvJQ/s400/P5140025.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343610723049888994" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Part of the sky was blue.  Part of the sky was gray.  The sun was getting ready to go down and was bouncing off their parachute thingers in the most beautiful way.  It was amazing.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SihR9SBFLJI/AAAAAAAAALk/oXUgiDYHPSg/s1600-h/P5140021.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SihR9SBFLJI/AAAAAAAAALk/oXUgiDYHPSg/s400/P5140021.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343611071125335186" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Who knew paragliding could be so gorgeous and mesmerizing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the record, this did not make me want to &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;try&lt;/span&gt; paragliding.  But I'd watch it again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-7083414273398292811?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7083414273398292811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7083414273398292811' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7083414273398292811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7083414273398292811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/06/paragliding.html' title='Paragliding'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SihQvt06b_I/AAAAAAAAALM/roA_VplobW0/s72-c/P5140001.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7059146963028281628</id><published>2009-05-18T11:20:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-18T11:24:37.153-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What's Making Me Smile</title><content type='html'>I got this thing in the mail from Select Health.  They're doing dental insurance now.  They're also doing a photo contest and they're giving away prizes each week.  I love prizes, so I though, "What the heck.  I'll enter."  The theme is "What Makes You Smile?" and in light of this beautiful weather and dreams of walking on the beach, I picked this photo.  Pretty please &lt;a href="http://www.protecttoothy.com/smileContest/photoDetails.aspx?photoID=955"&gt;go here and vote&lt;/a&gt; for it as your favorite!  You can vote once per day.  And then something good will happen to you because, you know, karma.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/ShGZbuVjdqI/AAAAAAAAALE/ow9_9DQT3Bo/s1600-h/IMG_0050.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/ShGZbuVjdqI/AAAAAAAAALE/ow9_9DQT3Bo/s400/IMG_0050.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5337215734984701602" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-7059146963028281628?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7059146963028281628/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7059146963028281628' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7059146963028281628'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7059146963028281628'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/05/whats-making-me-smile.html' title='What&apos;s Making Me Smile'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/ShGZbuVjdqI/AAAAAAAAALE/ow9_9DQT3Bo/s72-c/IMG_0050.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-6562879923087791601</id><published>2009-05-17T19:49:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-17T20:03:30.678-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My Life as a Laborer</title><content type='html'>My friend Alicia was recently telling me that she and her husband wanted to get their garage painted.  She said that her husband had found these "laborers" who were willing to work for a case of beer.  I suggested that anyone willing to work for a case of beer, current friends excluded, could be a little bit questionable.  I jokingly threw out an "I'll paint your garage."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, half-jokingly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, not at all jokingly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of days after that conversation, Alicia called and said, "How serious were you about painting our garage?  We'll pay you.  Money, not beer."  So I spent today with Alicia, working hard for my money.  She and her husband watched at first.  I taped.  I edged.  Then we all worked together to roll.  Garages are big, and garage ceilings have lots of lights and plugs and garage door contraptions that you have to edge around while standing on a ladder with your head tilted back and your arm straight up.  It was fairly exhausting.  I mean, its 7:57 right now, and bedtime can't come fast enough.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you know what?  I enjoy painting.  I would totally do it again next weekend.  You know, if you have a room that needs painting.*   Wink, wink, nudge, nudge. &lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;*Compensation negotiable.  :)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-6562879923087791601?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/6562879923087791601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=6562879923087791601' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6562879923087791601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6562879923087791601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/05/my-life-as-laborer.html' title='My Life as a Laborer'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4324435871952890212</id><published>2009-05-11T21:55:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-11T22:09:44.548-06:00</updated><title type='text'>No Sleep For Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;[Spoiler Alert:  Stop reading this post if you DVRed "Two and a Half Men" and you prefer not to know the general gist before watching it.]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dave and I were watching tonight's "Two and a Half Men."  Alan was teaching himself to talk like a ventriloquist and he had this uber creepy dummy he named Danny.  He and Danny were always wearing the same outfit.  Which was funny.  For a second.  Danny was threatening to kill Charlie.  Which was creepy.   It was by far the creepiest "Two and a Half Men" I've ever seen.  I even told Dave I was concerned about my quality of sleep tonight because Danny was so terrifying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny guy that Dave is...about an hour later my phone beeps letting me know I have an email. Dave excitedly was like, "Someone emailed you!  Who emailed you?"  He does that everytime my phone beeps, so I didn't really think anything of it.  I popped open my email and there's a message from him with the subject line, "SEE YOU TONIGHT!"  I was like, "You emailed me!"  I opened the email and screamed when I saw this photo:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&amp;amp;ik=d337316def&amp;amp;view=att&amp;amp;th=12132e4d8a3eec64&amp;amp;attid=0.1&amp;amp;disp=thd&amp;amp;zw"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://mail.google.com/mail/?ui=2&amp;amp;ik=d337316def&amp;amp;view=att&amp;amp;th=12132e4d8a3eec64&amp;amp;attid=0.1&amp;amp;disp=thd&amp;amp;zw" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Oh my god!  I mean, for real!  Look how scary it is.  And its limbs are all twisted and disgusting.  Dave assures me that this is the least creepy photo he found.  I cringed as he described the close-up photos of the dummy heads.  I squirmed as he asked, "I wonder what it would feel like to be gnawed at with those wooden teeth."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder if I'll ever sleep again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4324435871952890212?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4324435871952890212/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4324435871952890212' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4324435871952890212'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4324435871952890212'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/05/no-sleep-for-me.html' title='No Sleep For Me'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-8278174652519341637</id><published>2009-05-03T10:41:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-05-03T10:52:22.660-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Babies in My Backyard</title><content type='html'>On Friday, a mama duck and 10 baby ducks walked past our deck.  At first I was paralyzed by cuteness.  Then I wanted a picture of them.  But then I realized my camera battery was dead.  So I thought about using my phone, but I knew my phone wouldn't do those babies justice.  I plugged in my camera and went to bed, confident that the babies would be back tomorrow.  I've been watching and praying all weekend, but all I got are these guys.  Fine then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/Sf3JovsDiZI/AAAAAAAAAK8/yXsivVbqlm4/s1600-h/P5040002.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/Sf3JovsDiZI/AAAAAAAAAK8/yXsivVbqlm4/s320/P5040002.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5331639235709733266" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-8278174652519341637?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/8278174652519341637/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=8278174652519341637' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8278174652519341637'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8278174652519341637'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/05/babies-in-my-backyard.html' title='Babies in My Backyard'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/Sf3JovsDiZI/AAAAAAAAAK8/yXsivVbqlm4/s72-c/P5040002.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5640445282304572276</id><published>2009-04-26T13:20:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-26T13:35:54.533-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Rock Bottom</title><content type='html'>I've always been one of those people who believes that Walmart is the evil empire.  One day Dave suggested trying our grocery shopping there, and since he buys the groceries, I figured I didn't have a lot of room to argue.  Turns out, the commercials are true - their prices really are unbeatable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day I stopped on my way home to pick up razors and ice cream.  I was on my way from the razor aisle to ice cream aisle, and passed the purse department.  In a moment of &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;major&lt;/span&gt; weakness, I veered in.  You see, I got this awesome purple hobo from Brad and Maeve for Christmas, but the inside zipper pocket has since developed a hole situation, and anything you put in there ends up under the lining in the depths of the bag.  So I've been thinking about looking for a new bag anyway, but with limited financial resources, I haven't been sure where to look.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Remember Walmart's unbeatable prices?  I actually saw a bag I really liked.  Oh god.  Its mustard colored with pink lining and silver accents.  It has two compartments, big enough for even my calendar and some file folders.  It has two inside zipper pockets.  And I love an organized bag.  The straps are long enough that I can toss it over my shoulder without it getting hung up on my elbow.  Its cute!  And only $15!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But then it hit me.  "Jessica Leigh!  You are looking at purses at Walmart!  Walmart is ghetto.  This must be what rock bottom feels like."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not too much of an impulse shopper anyway.  I see something I think I like, I try it out, I hem and haw, I go home and sleep on it.  If I'm still thinking about it the next day, I consider going back to buy it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the case of the Walmart purse, I was still thinking about it &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;two&lt;/span&gt; days later.  So I told myself that if I sold at least $100 at my Saturday skin care class, I could go back and buy it.  As luck would have it, I sold almost twice my appointed goal.  And as double luck would have it, when I got back to Walmart, the purse was marked down to $10.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point is, if you see me walking around with a fab mustard-colored hobo bag, yes, I bought it at Walmart, and no, I don't want to talk about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5640445282304572276?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5640445282304572276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5640445282304572276' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5640445282304572276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5640445282304572276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/04/rock-bottom.html' title='Rock Bottom'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1526246208274090101</id><published>2009-04-24T07:37:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-24T07:49:40.074-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Thank You, Kate Gosselin</title><content type='html'>There are cows near my j.o.b.  The other day I noticed there are babies.  Baby cows are so dang cute!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But they got me wondering.  Is it ok to think those baby cows are so dang cute, even though I don't feel remotely bad about the fact that I will likely meet them again someday...at Crown Burger.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That very night I was watching Jon &amp;amp; Kate Plus 8.  The Gosselins were going to visit an organic farm.  They took a tractor ride all around the farm, fed the chickens, and visited the cows.  Kate was soooo excited about the baby cows and was going on and on about how cute they are.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then she bought half a cow to take home and stick in their freezer.  I felt so validated.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1526246208274090101?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1526246208274090101/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1526246208274090101' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1526246208274090101'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1526246208274090101'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/04/thank-you-kate-gosselin.html' title='Thank You, Kate Gosselin'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1303704199950773099</id><published>2009-04-23T15:47:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-23T15:52:17.512-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Freeway</title><content type='html'>I la-la-la love spring driving.  Love.  I feel very zen on the freeway with all of my windows down, wind whipping my hair in all directions, sun kissing my skin through the open sun roof, Pat Benatar's "Hit Me With Your Best Shot" blaring.  Two days in a row.  Its fantastic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1303704199950773099?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1303704199950773099/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1303704199950773099' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1303704199950773099'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1303704199950773099'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/04/freeway.html' title='Freeway'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4191704288394272300</id><published>2009-04-21T18:54:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-21T19:07:57.779-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bald = Rich</title><content type='html'>When Brad and I were kids in California, Mom used to take us to the beach every Wednesday.  If you've ever been to L.A., you know that no matter which direction you're going, no matter what time of day, the freeway system is happy to provide you with ample time to kill.  Brad and I came up with some theories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of them had to do with rich dudes and convertible cars.  Something along the lines of bald dudes are obviously rich, because rich people drive convertibles, and the wind whipping through your hair clearly must have some sort of affect on how much hair you keep.  Right?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, obviously.  Today I was on I-15 and I saw two dudes riding in a fancy convertible.  Guess what.  Both bald.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4191704288394272300?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4191704288394272300/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4191704288394272300' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4191704288394272300'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4191704288394272300'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/04/bald-rich.html' title='Bald = Rich'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-358122580527825813</id><published>2009-04-11T23:41:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-11T23:54:21.653-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Observations From South Jordan</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SeF_0E4_I-I/AAAAAAAAAKs/JMW6pHoytHQ/s1600-h/MDay+Satin+Hands+Set.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 91px; height: 121px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SeF_0E4_I-I/AAAAAAAAAKs/JMW6pHoytHQ/s200/MDay+Satin+Hands+Set.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323676767171322850" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Today I took a field trip.  I wanted to get some fake gerber daisies for the Mother's Day gift sets I'm putting together.  The Mary Kay ladies said that you can't get a better deal than at the Hobby Lobby in South Jordan.  I was doing a skin care class at our studio in Sandy today, and figuring that South Jordan wasn't too far from Sandy, I ventured to the Hobby Lobby.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Hobby Lobby is at 11800 South and 3600 West.  Its far.  I can honestly say I've never been to that part of the valley before.  You know what?  The houses there are HUGE.  And they all have motor homes and horse trailers parked outside.  I even saw a house that looks like a castle.  But my favorite was this giant log cabin with a porch swing and horses in the back yard.  It looked so cozy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also found out that South Jordan has a Pie.  And a Market Street.  And other things that used to be downtown specialties.  And the plane that advertises for the Bees was flying around out there.  And I realized that the banner that the plane pulls is like 8 times the size of the plane itself.  Which made me wonder how in the heck the plane takes off and lands.  I'd like to see that some time.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-358122580527825813?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/358122580527825813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=358122580527825813' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/358122580527825813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/358122580527825813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/04/observations-from-south-jordan.html' title='Observations From South Jordan'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SeF_0E4_I-I/AAAAAAAAAKs/JMW6pHoytHQ/s72-c/MDay+Satin+Hands+Set.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-2203422232272900577</id><published>2009-04-10T08:39:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-04-10T08:46:23.969-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My Buddy &amp; Me</title><content type='html'>I babysat Miles the other night.  He walks now, so we spent about 45 minutes walking around the house, playing "I'm Gonna Get You."  Then he got tired and cried.  Through his bedtime snack.  Through bath time.  Through the lotion rub down.  Through getting dressed in jammers (especially through getting dressed).  Through &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Brown Bear, Brown Bear&lt;/span&gt; and &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Oops&lt;/span&gt;.  For some reason &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Clifford&lt;/span&gt; calmed him down.  And he helped by turning all the pages.  I love the little guy.  I mean, look how cute we are together.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/Sd9bOzoz_uI/AAAAAAAAAKk/3V8Ectv6l-A/s1600-h/1239239295553.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/Sd9bOzoz_uI/AAAAAAAAAKk/3V8Ectv6l-A/s400/1239239295553.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5323073594512899810" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-2203422232272900577?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/2203422232272900577/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=2203422232272900577' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2203422232272900577'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2203422232272900577'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-buddy-me.html' title='My Buddy &amp; Me'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/Sd9bOzoz_uI/AAAAAAAAAKk/3V8Ectv6l-A/s72-c/1239239295553.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-460701357521448287</id><published>2009-03-15T09:20:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-15T09:26:40.066-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Read This if You're Shopping For a New Phone Plan</title><content type='html'>I use T-Mobile, and I like them.  They're offering new customers a free Blackberry Pearl just for signing up.  If you do it, tell them I sent you.  I get a deal, too.  Just throwing it out there...  :)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-460701357521448287?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/460701357521448287/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=460701357521448287' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/460701357521448287'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/460701357521448287'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/03/read-this-if-youre-shopping-for-new.html' title='Read This if You&apos;re Shopping For a New Phone Plan'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-6279044712099762576</id><published>2009-03-09T07:24:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-09T07:48:31.269-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Skiing Makes My Calves Hurt</title><content type='html'>I'm clomping around like a zombie or a mummy or whatever clomps when it walks.  Bending my knee and rolling my foot forward, like a normal walk, is excruciating. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But we picked the most beautiful day to ski!  The sun was shining, the sky was the most amazing blue, the snow was just the way I like it, the company was super fun, and my post-lasik eyes were amazing!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was the Knickerbocker-Johnston Ski Day on Saturday.  Dad treated Brad, Maeve, Carly, Ian, Kelsey, and I to a great day at Brighton.  Brad skied for the first time since sixth grade, and was actually quite good.  (He learned by watching the internet.  What else is new?)  Kels was skiing for only the second time ever and she did great!  I also loved getting to spend some time getting to know her and Ian a little better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course its always so fun to spend the day with my Dad!  Thanks so much, Dad!  Let us know when you post those photos!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-6279044712099762576?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/6279044712099762576/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=6279044712099762576' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6279044712099762576'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6279044712099762576'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/03/skiing-makes-my-calves-hurt.html' title='Skiing Makes My Calves Hurt'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5159079612684654634</id><published>2009-03-03T07:47:00.005-07:00</published><updated>2009-03-03T21:46:37.052-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dream About Munchos</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.cvcoffee.com/prod_images_blowup/Munchos1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 142px; height: 160px;" src="http://www.cvcoffee.com/prod_images_blowup/Munchos1.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;What is it about me and dreams about junk food?   No, Travis, I am NOT pregnant.  But I did have a dream about Munchos.  Do you guys know Munchos?  Man, they're good.  They're the only chip I remember being in our house when I was younger and we lived in California.  And then we moved to Utah.  Munchos are hard to come by in Utah.  Dad found a gas station somewhere that sells them, so he buys three or four bags at a time and then hides them in a top secret hiding place in the kitchen cabinet where the salad bowls and platters are.  Well, I guess its not &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that&lt;/span&gt; top secret.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway.  The dream.  I dreamt I was with Brad and we were going to a party, or an open house, or something in our old hood down by Brighton High School.  It was at this huge house and there were all these people milling through.  We wandered down this curving staircase and ended up alone in a basement where there was a vending machine.  It was weird.  But we were so happy because the vending machine had Munchos in it.  Only, they weren't the Munchos we're used to.  They were orange, like Cheetos, and cone-shaped, like Bugles.  But still in that shiny orange/gold bag that screams deliciousness.  And still salty and potato-y and delicious.  Mmm.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5159079612684654634?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5159079612684654634/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5159079612684654634' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5159079612684654634'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5159079612684654634'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/03/dream-about-munchos.html' title='The Dream About Munchos'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-9165443446008748314</id><published>2009-01-19T22:14:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T22:35:50.877-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Our Neighbor is SO Loud</title><content type='html'>Treading lightly is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;not&lt;/span&gt; a talent that Stompy McStomperson possesses.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The crazy thing is, I've lived here for almost four years, and I've never heard anyone upstairs.  Until Stompy.  He made me feel really bad because for three years, I've been obliviously stomping myself over Downstairs Jess without the faintest clue that my floor / her ceiling is not soundproof.  I mean, I never heard Vern when he lived up there.  Not a peep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Stompy moved in shortly after Dave did, and I swear he's gotten progressively louder since he got here.  Its like he doesn't own a chair.  He walks back and forth and back and forth and back and forth for hours and hours.  Sometimes he has people over.  People who have a kid.  A kid who is particularly loud.  My god.  This weekend, he had multiple people over.  Two adults and THREE kids.  I don't mean like little kids.  I mean like pre-teens.  Big boys who are are big and loud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started developing some theories about what Stompy might be doing up there:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;He is serving his guests tea.  From the kitchen, past the dining room, to the living room.  One guest at a time.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;He's teaching dance lessons.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;He's playing track and field on a Wii.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;He's learning capoiera.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;You know what I just remembered?  One day we ran in to Stompy outside, and he asked if we could here him.  He asked!  And we were flat out honest.  "Yes actually.  Every step."  You would think he would try to tread lightly.  Or at least lighter.  Huh.  I forgot all about that.  Man alive.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-9165443446008748314?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/9165443446008748314/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=9165443446008748314' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/9165443446008748314'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/9165443446008748314'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/01/our-neighbor-is-so-loud.html' title='Our Neighbor is SO Loud'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7177839601380521189</id><published>2009-01-18T11:58:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-18T12:10:52.537-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Published</title><content type='html'>A while back I found an email in my flickr account letting me know that the Schmap Guide people had found one of the photos Dave and I took when we were in &lt;a href="http://flickr.com/photos/knickyb/sets/72157606323632322/"&gt;Seattle&lt;/a&gt; in July.  They wanted to know if it would be ok to submit our photo for inclusion it their soon-to-be-released Seattle guide.  I said, "What the heck."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today I found an email in my flickr account letting me know that our photo was chosen to be included!  Pretty rad, right?  Check out the guide &lt;a href="http://www.schmap.com/seattle/activities_downtown/#r=none&amp;amp;mapview=Map&amp;amp;tab=Places&amp;amp;p=21901&amp;amp;topleft=47.69185,-122.39199&amp;amp;bottomright=47.57942,-122.29551&amp;amp;i=21901_11.jpg"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt; - our photo is the one of the Victoria Clipper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, the Schmap people asked how I'd like the credit credited.  There wasn't enough space to put both of our names.  There wasn't even enough space for a space between my first name and last name.  To be totally honest, I couldn't remember who took which pictures on our trip.  It was months ago, and I can barely remember the things that happened last week.  So since the photo was on my camera and then posted on my flickr, I went ahead and put my name.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just now I went over to the couch and said, "Look babe!  One of our Seattle pictures was selected to be included in the Schmap guide!"  Dave said, "I took that photo.  That's your name."  I explained the space issue and he said, "So what you're saying is David Oakley would have fit perfectly."  Hmph.  So I'm officially giving all the credit to Dave.  Unless you only read the Schmap guide without ever seeing this blog.  Then I get all the credit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The point is, I'm published.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-7177839601380521189?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7177839601380521189/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7177839601380521189' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7177839601380521189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7177839601380521189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/01/published.html' title='Published'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5491402675046814065</id><published>2009-01-16T20:27:00.008-07:00</published><updated>2009-01-17T07:52:36.022-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Keep Meaning to Blog...</title><content type='html'>I have been meaning to blog for a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was inspired by my mom's cute post about &lt;a href="http://richandweber.blogspot.com/2008/12/things-i-loved-about-christmas.html"&gt;the things she loved about Christmas&lt;/a&gt;.  It made me want to tell all of you blog readers about the things I loved about Christmas...like my &lt;a href="http://www.t-mobileg1.com/"&gt;G1&lt;/a&gt; (thanks love!) and my &lt;a href="http://www.hansensurf.com/images/D/5819-GRY-PROD.jpg"&gt;Classic Cardy Uggs&lt;/a&gt; (thanks mom &amp;amp; dad!) and my &lt;a href="http://www.target.com/Merona-Purple-Lrg-Hobo/dp/B001DKZHQS/sr=1-13/qid=1232166965/ref=sr_1_13/189-0409149-3491952?ie=UTF8&amp;amp;pricerange=&amp;amp;index=target&amp;amp;field-browse=1041790&amp;amp;rh=k%3Ahandbag%2Cn%3A12940921%2Ctgt_2%3APurple&amp;amp;page=2"&gt;big purple purse&lt;/a&gt; (thanks brad &amp;amp; maeve!)...  I mean, I got some great gifts this year!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was thinking I should blog about some New Years resolutions.  Like washing my face every night by 10:00 so that its always done before I get too tired.  And not doing anything Mary Kay related on Sundays - Sundays should be for reading and lounging.  And blogging more often - you know, like as soon as I think of something to blog about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that I can hold the internet in my hand at all times, thanks to the best boyfriend ever and the aforementioned G1, I really have no excuse.  So stay tuned!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5491402675046814065?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5491402675046814065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5491402675046814065' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5491402675046814065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5491402675046814065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-keep-meaning-to-blog.html' title='I Keep Meaning to Blog...'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5111342382250996302</id><published>2008-12-30T10:25:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-30T10:43:29.634-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Shout-Out to Amanda at Sorelle Spa</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;amanda:&lt;/span&gt;  I'm Amanda, I'll be working on you today.  Is your massage a gift?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me:&lt;/span&gt;  I actually won it during a fundraiser almost a year ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;amanda:&lt;/span&gt;  Oh, well congratulations!  Have you had a massage before?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me:  &lt;/span&gt;A few.  Its been a while.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;amanda&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;:&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;  OK.  Strip down to your comfort level and slip between these sheets.  We'll start face down.  See you in a second.  [leaves...comes back]  Is there anything in particular you want me to work on?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;me:&lt;/span&gt;  No, not really.  I actually prefer a softer massage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;amanda:&lt;/span&gt;  Sure.  Something all over relaxing?  OK.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From that short conversation, I got the massage I've always dreamed of.  It seems its usually a massage therapist's natural tendency, if they even sense that you might have a knot, to work it out through whatever means necessary, whether you want them to or not.  They're sadists.  I put massage therapists on the same level as Steve Martin's orthodontist in &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Little Shop of Horrors&lt;/span&gt;.  Really, I'm just looking for someone to rub my cold, dry, wintery skin with their warm, oily hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Amanda did just that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you know what else I loved?  Amanda rubbed my cold, dry, wintery skin with her warm, oily hands without trying to befriend me.  She didn't ask where I was from, or if I've been to Sorelle before, or how her pressure is.  She especially didn't try to explain, as she was digging her finger tips or knuckles or elbow into my back, that it might hurt a little now, but if I give it a couple of days and drink a lot of water, I'm going to feel a million times better.  (Lies.)  Amanda rubbed in silence while I ecstatically drooled all over her face cradler thinger.  Even when it was time to roll over, she instructed me to do so in a barely audible whisper.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, I didn't actually drool.  But I could have, if I wasn't paying enough attention not to.  Amanda's massage is that good.  Moral of the story is, I just found &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;my&lt;/span&gt; massage therapist.  I'd go so far as to say she's my massage soul mate.  Amanda, I love you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5111342382250996302?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5111342382250996302/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5111342382250996302' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5111342382250996302'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5111342382250996302'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/12/shout-out-to-amanda-at-sorelle-spa.html' title='Shout-Out to Amanda at Sorelle Spa'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1589874971441690174</id><published>2008-12-18T10:21:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T10:23:32.315-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Honey Buns Update</title><content type='html'>My mom got me a box of the Little Debbie's Honey Buns.  They're smaller than I remember.  Or maybe I was smaller, so they seemed bigger.  And I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;swear&lt;/span&gt; they came out of the freezer when I was a kid.  But, after microwaved for 30 seconds, they are warm and gooey and taste &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;exactly&lt;/span&gt; as I remember.  Yummers!  Thanks, Mom!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1589874971441690174?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1589874971441690174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1589874971441690174' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1589874971441690174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1589874971441690174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/12/honey-buns-update.html' title='Honey Buns Update'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-9132426858995572465</id><published>2008-12-14T16:24:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-14T16:25:57.221-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard at Big Lots</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;mother, yelling angrily at her 4-ish-year-old:&lt;/span&gt;  That is NOT in the spirit of giving!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-9132426858995572465?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/9132426858995572465/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=9132426858995572465' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/9132426858995572465'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/9132426858995572465'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/12/overheard-at-big-lots.html' title='Overheard at Big Lots'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1888650805527525088</id><published>2008-12-08T22:13:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T22:23:42.133-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Heaven</title><content type='html'>Today I got on I-80 at 1300 East, and then I got off of I-80 at 1300 East.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1888650805527525088?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1888650805527525088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1888650805527525088' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1888650805527525088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1888650805527525088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/12/miracle.html' title='Heaven'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4269148832410373239</id><published>2008-11-28T12:17:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T12:19:27.216-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Feats of Strength</title><content type='html'>The other day I saw a dude carrying a pallet while ride his bike.  One arm straight up over his head holding the pallet behind him, the other arm steering the bike.  That's what I call impressive.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4269148832410373239?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4269148832410373239/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4269148832410373239' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4269148832410373239'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4269148832410373239'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/11/feats-of-strength.html' title='Feats of Strength'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7588346272113520843</id><published>2008-11-21T16:30:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T16:35:33.012-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Remember These?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.littledebbie.com/images/products/hnybun1.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 285px; height: 168px;" src="http://www.littledebbie.com/images/products/hnybun1.gif" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I woke up in the middle of the night to pee, and as soon as I stood up I thought, "Oh my god!  A gooey, melty, straight-out-of-the-microwave Honey Buns sounds so good right now."  Then I peed and went back to sleep.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I woke up, I remembered having the craving, but I could not for the life of me remember what they were called.  I had to ask Mom.  Luckily she knew.  We used to eat them when we lived in California.  17 years ago.  Why I craved one last night is beyond me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But now I'm dying to know if I can find them somewhere...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-7588346272113520843?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7588346272113520843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7588346272113520843' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7588346272113520843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7588346272113520843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/11/remember-these.html' title='Remember These?'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-8997765198884740920</id><published>2008-11-16T13:44:00.003-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T16:30:17.388-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard in the Freeze Aisle at (gasp!) Wal-Mart</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;renee:&lt;/span&gt;  I want this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;renee's mom:&lt;/span&gt;  No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;renee:&lt;/span&gt;  Why not???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;renee's mom:&lt;/span&gt;  Because your pancreas doesn't work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;renee:  &lt;/span&gt;Well, can't you fix it?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-8997765198884740920?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/8997765198884740920/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=8997765198884740920' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8997765198884740920'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8997765198884740920'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/11/overheard-by-dave-in-freeze-aisle-at.html' title='Overheard in the Freeze Aisle at (gasp!) Wal-Mart'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4056553231570165940</id><published>2008-11-05T08:15:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T10:51:59.738-07:00</updated><title type='text'>A Cause for Cozy</title><content type='html'>Remember last year when &lt;a href="http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/12/observations-from-weekend.html"&gt;I realized that I fell in love with snow&lt;/a&gt;?  I'm still in love.  I can't stop staring at this:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SRHdCYfBClI/AAAAAAAAAKA/Wh7TzrcKZNM/s1600-h/11-05-08_0808.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 300px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SRHdCYfBClI/AAAAAAAAAKA/Wh7TzrcKZNM/s400/11-05-08_0808.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265232472374839890" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4056553231570165940?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4056553231570165940/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4056553231570165940' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4056553231570165940'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4056553231570165940'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/11/cause-for-cozy.html' title='A Cause for Cozy'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SRHdCYfBClI/AAAAAAAAAKA/Wh7TzrcKZNM/s72-c/11-05-08_0808.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4048911490036849365</id><published>2008-11-02T14:49:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-02T15:10:53.208-07:00</updated><title type='text'>100 Faces</title><content type='html'>You know, I've heard a million times since I joined Mary Kay that "it works when you work."  I knew it was true.  But now I can say it for a fact.  Mary Kay works when I work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I finished those 54 faces I needed in October.  In fact, I finished 57.  I got to pamper and spend some time with friends I haven't seen in forever.  I got to make some new friends I never would have without Mary Kay.  I shared some new tricks with all of those friends that they can use when taking care of their skin.  I moved $2,543 in product off my shelves.  I taught 7 people about the business opportunity Mary Kay offers and got three new team members.  And I had SO much fun doing it!  I love my job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks to all 103 of you who have helped me out since July 1.  I'm going to really enjoy my front row seat at Fall Camp and take full advantage of my Jump-to-the-Front-of-the-Bathroom-Line pass.  I can't wait!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4048911490036849365?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4048911490036849365/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4048911490036849365' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4048911490036849365'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4048911490036849365'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/11/100-faces.html' title='100 Faces'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4702638751181745164</id><published>2008-10-23T14:37:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-23T14:50:08.393-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Dear Blog</title><content type='html'>Dear Blog,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm sorry I've been neglecting you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last year, when I went to Fall Camp (the 2-day Mary Kay training for my national area at The Canyons), I was sitting in the second to last row, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;starving&lt;/span&gt;, and realizing I still had two hours to go.  All of the sudden, everyone on the front row was eating popcorn and drinking soda and I was painfully jealous.  At that point I decided I would do whatever it takes to get on the front row next year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next year has come.  And what I need to do is put my product on 100 faces by the end of October.  This challenge was issued back in July, when it would have been easy to complete.  100 faces divided by four months is a mere 25 faces per month.  I don't like to do things the easy way.  If I learned anything in college, its that I prefer to wait and wait and wait, and then cram in the giant project at the very last second.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So October came.  I had done 46 out of the 100.  I sort of gave up.  But then I heard one of my girlfriends say she had 60 faces to go and nothing was going to get in her way.  So I made the decision to go for it come hell or high water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Doing 54 faces in one month is no small feat.  I've had to beg and plead and bribe people to help me.  But its been fun.  And its been worth it.  Today is the 23rd.  I have 22 faces to go by next Friday.  Well, Thursday, considering Dave and I are going to see the Odyssey Dance Company's &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thriller&lt;/span&gt; on Friday night.  So I have 22 faces to go in 8 days.  And I feel so confident that I will do it.  I mean, I have &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;four&lt;/span&gt; parties this weekend.  I'm blowing this contest out of the water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my point is, Blog, I'm sorry I've been neglecting you.  I've been busy succeeding.  Hallelujah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Jessica&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.  Blog, will you please tell my dear friends who have let me borrow their faces this month that I say, "THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK!!"?  Thank you.  I appreciate it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4702638751181745164?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4702638751181745164/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4702638751181745164' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4702638751181745164'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4702638751181745164'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/10/dear-blog.html' title='Dear Blog'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5260308225322275311</id><published>2008-10-12T09:12:00.007-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-12T09:46:04.027-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Birthday Greetings</title><content type='html'>Here are the birthday cards I got in the mail this week...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIaoE0zeNI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/fNAbsdt0gtc/s1600-h/10-12-08_0909.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIaoE0zeNI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/fNAbsdt0gtc/s200/10-12-08_0909.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256292990887098578" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This is actually from someone I know - my Mary Kay Sales Director, Debi.  But its totally computer generated and has this weird little baby on it.  I don't get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIahUJDARI/AAAAAAAAAJw/D6g7jl8nim0/s1600-h/10-12-08_0910.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIahUJDARI/AAAAAAAAAJw/D6g7jl8nim0/s200/10-12-08_0910.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256292874739450130" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This one is also from someone I know.  Granted, I know her because she refinanced my condo for me.  I did know her before that through the Murray Chamber Women in Business, but I doubt she would have sent me a birthday card before the refinance.  What I like about this card is that its the only one that is hand-written and feels personal.  Thanks, Nona!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIaZhABFQI/AAAAAAAAAJo/MBz0wt2NNbk/s1600-h/10-12-08_0907.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIaZhABFQI/AAAAAAAAAJo/MBz0wt2NNbk/s200/10-12-08_0907.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256292740752282882" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This one is from the fine folks at AppleOne Employment Services.  They hand-signed their first names, but no personal notes...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIZeIDeunI/AAAAAAAAAJg/zUzeeVbxXD8/s1600-h/10-12-08_0906.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIZeIDeunI/AAAAAAAAAJg/zUzeeVbxXD8/s200/10-12-08_0906.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256291720443640434" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This one is the funniest.  The outside says, "Hotel Alpha Papa Papa Yankee Bravo India Romeo Tango Hotel Delta Alpha Yankee."  The inside says, "That's fancy aviation talk for 'Happy Birthday' from all of us at Rapid Rewards."  If you're a Rapid Rewards member and Southwest has yet to send you your birthday card for this year, I'm sorry to ruin the surprise.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIZLfh3UAI/AAAAAAAAAJY/n1RCo7x3pc8/s1600-h/10-12-08_0911.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIZLfh3UAI/AAAAAAAAAJY/n1RCo7x3pc8/s200/10-12-08_0911.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5256291400327581698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;This one is the prettiest.  Its pink.  Guess who its from...  Yup, Mary Kay corporate.  Those guys are so thoughtful.  Or they have a really good system for keeping track and taking care of their 1.7 million consultants world-wide.  Either way, they never cease to amaze me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's it.  Nothing from aunts or uncles or out of town friends.  I'm not complaining.  I'm just amused.  And thinking I should make more of an effort to remember peeps' birthdays and send actual cards.  But I'm not making any promises.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5260308225322275311?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5260308225322275311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5260308225322275311' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5260308225322275311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5260308225322275311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/10/birthday-greetings.html' title='Birthday Greetings'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SPIaoE0zeNI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/fNAbsdt0gtc/s72-c/10-12-08_0909.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-3839357104314259163</id><published>2008-10-05T17:57:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-05T19:24:07.769-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Mosaic of Me</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOlkOq9u-aI/AAAAAAAAAI0/lT5AqDymQ5U/s1600-h/mosaic8491792.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOlkOq9u-aI/AAAAAAAAAI0/lT5AqDymQ5U/s400/mosaic8491792.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253840643518560674" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;1. What is your first name?  (jessica)&lt;br /&gt;2. What is your favorite food?  (crown burger)&lt;br /&gt;3. What high school did you attend?  (brighton)&lt;br /&gt;4. What is your favorite color?  (pink)&lt;br /&gt;5. Who is your celebrity crush?  (will ferrell)&lt;br /&gt;6. Favorite drink?  (tropical punch kool-aid)&lt;br /&gt;7. Dream vacation?  (tropical beaches)&lt;br /&gt;8. Favorite dessert?  (cake)&lt;br /&gt;9. What do you want to be when you grow up? (comfortable)&lt;br /&gt;10. What do you love most in life?  (the way he makes me laugh)&lt;br /&gt;11. One word to describe you?  (happy)&lt;br /&gt;12. Your Flickr name?  (knickyb)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Photo Credits:  1. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/dietpoison/133957015/"&gt;freedom&lt;/a&gt; 2. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/bransen/441496992/"&gt;crown burger&lt;/a&gt; 3. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lomokev/1335069023/"&gt;super styled that tash&lt;/a&gt; 4. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/person-qtr/2204274220/"&gt;spotted or striped anywhy...fashion&lt;/a&gt; 5. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/kezzaroo/540438451/"&gt;little anchorman - ron burgandy&lt;/a&gt; 6. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/mannywallace/2149612770/"&gt;fever for the flavor&lt;/a&gt; 7. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/visbeek/2828364707/"&gt;the arrival of a rainstorm&lt;/a&gt; 8. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/goodthings/314937703/"&gt;sweetie pie&lt;/a&gt; 9. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/sophie-/123147019/"&gt;sea of green chairs&lt;/a&gt; 10. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/lorenzodom/1675412370/"&gt;a day alone (in the metropolis)&lt;/a&gt; 11. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/trishabrunner/2247534887/"&gt;jumping all night long...day 26 / year 2&lt;/a&gt; 12. &lt;a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/axellrocks/398478954/"&gt;knicky&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I loved &lt;a href="http://alilovescurtis.blogspot.com/2008/10/mosaic-of-moi.html"&gt;Ali's Mosaic&lt;/a&gt; so much, I had to make my own.  She (and I) learned how &lt;a href="http://www.orangebeautiful.com/blog/post.php?post_id=812"&gt;here&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-3839357104314259163?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/3839357104314259163/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=3839357104314259163' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3839357104314259163'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3839357104314259163'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/10/mosaic-of-me.html' title='Mosaic of Me'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOlkOq9u-aI/AAAAAAAAAI0/lT5AqDymQ5U/s72-c/mosaic8491792.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4969050740427153813</id><published>2008-10-03T17:05:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-10-03T17:42:52.481-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Define Sanctity</title><content type='html'>I'm not often a soap box stander oner, but today I'm going to be.  Just for a quick secy.  Bear with me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone once in a while, when I need a break from work, I indulge in a hint of the Tyra Show.   Yesterday's episode was about open relationships, and its been bothering me since I saw it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOan9bSrHhI/AAAAAAAAAIs/yZdd0LKEwBk/s1600-h/Picture+1.png"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOan9bSrHhI/AAAAAAAAAIs/yZdd0LKEwBk/s320/Picture+1.png" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5253070689114201618" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;There were these four people, right?  The two in the middle are married.  To each other.  The girl on the right is the husband's "lover."  He also has a girlfriend.  The guy on the left is (I missed the beginning, but I think) the wife's boyfriend, who the husband claims to love as his brother.  Did I mention the wife is bisexual?  The husband and the wife have children who have relationships with all of the characters in this story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know.  I just feel like there's something wrong with all of this.  These people are allowed to be married, and have all these other flings and relationships and lord knows what.  However, people who have been in loving, committed, monogamous relationships for years upon years with someone of the same sex are not allowed to get married because, according to some religious and political leaders, they will destroy the sanctity of marriage.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, define sanctity.  Because I obviously don't understand.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4969050740427153813?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4969050740427153813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4969050740427153813' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4969050740427153813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4969050740427153813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/10/define-sanctity.html' title='Define Sanctity'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOan9bSrHhI/AAAAAAAAAIs/yZdd0LKEwBk/s72-c/Picture+1.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-9016986217886362453</id><published>2008-09-21T13:05:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-21T13:18:01.333-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Comforts of Home</title><content type='html'>I'm in love with live music.  This week alone, I've seen Arcade Fire, Erykah Badu, and Los Lonely Boys.  And I've finally discovered my favorite venue.  My living room.  Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've seen them all without shelling out a single penny for a cover charge or a brewskie.  I've seen them all in high def, which is more clear than if I were standing in a smokey bar.  I've seen them all without standing on my tippie-toes.  I've seen them all without standing, period.  I've seen them all without being shoved by a drunk, smelly hippie.  I've seen them all at a volume that I find comfortable and doesn't leave my ears bleeding.  I've seen them all and have still gotten into bed no later than 11:00 p.m. every night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there's plenty more to see On Demand.  Whenever I so desire.  Today I might see Beck.  Or The Who.  Or the Wu-Tang Clan.  How will I ever decide?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-9016986217886362453?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/9016986217886362453/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=9016986217886362453' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/9016986217886362453'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/9016986217886362453'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/comforts-of-home.html' title='The Comforts of Home'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1171001458220299324</id><published>2008-09-18T21:51:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-18T22:25:44.038-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Spawn of Satan</title><content type='html'>When &lt;a href="http://maeveandbrad.com/"&gt;Brad and Maeve&lt;/a&gt; asked me to come help them weed, I had no idea what I would be getting myself into.  I pictured sitting on the ground with one of those &lt;a href="http://www.naturehills.com/images/productImages/hand_weeder.jpg"&gt;weeder-thinger-ma-bobs&lt;/a&gt; I used to use to help mom in the garden when I was younger.  The weeds in Brad and Maeve's yard are no match for a mere weeder-thinger-ma-bob.&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SNMpgzYIrlI/AAAAAAAAAIc/P_s2fmsfUqo/s1600-h/09-18-08_1917.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SNMpgzYIrlI/AAAAAAAAAIc/P_s2fmsfUqo/s200/09-18-08_1917.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247583634340752978" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;We were up against weeds as tall as me, complete with really sharp thorns.  Weeds that are the spawn of Satan.  I was given a left-handed glove with holes in the fingers, and a right-handed heavy-duty work glove that I was instructed not to get muddy.  We had to grab on, pull, tug, yank, and if the weed still wouldn't come out of the ground, start rooting around with the weeder-thinger-ma-bob.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SNMpTenmroI/AAAAAAAAAIU/C4iPER-m0UM/s1600-h/09-18-08_1918.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SNMpTenmroI/AAAAAAAAAIU/C4iPER-m0UM/s200/09-18-08_1918.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247583405430189698" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;If I'd known this is what I'd been dealing with, I would have worn full leathers.  I mean, there were thorns in the gloves, in my sleeves, in my shoes.  My left nostril was chock-full of pollen.  There was even a point where I was bent over, rooting and tugging, and when the weed finally gave, I fell flat on my ass.  But I managed not to get the work glove muddy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SNMo5epAEgI/AAAAAAAAAIM/yGx-1Htkn5M/s1600-h/09-18-08_1915.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SNMo5epAEgI/AAAAAAAAAIM/yGx-1Htkn5M/s200/09-18-08_1915.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247582958759449090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Don't get me wrong.  I'm not complaining.  I just found the whole situation funny.  And if Brad and Maeve need help again, I'll do it.  I'll wear thicker clothes and bring my own gloves.  I'll pull weeds.  Especially if there's some Crown Burger and an orange Fanta in it for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1171001458220299324?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1171001458220299324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1171001458220299324' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1171001458220299324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1171001458220299324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/spawn-of-satan.html' title='Spawn of Satan'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SNMpgzYIrlI/AAAAAAAAAIc/P_s2fmsfUqo/s72-c/09-18-08_1917.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-6798702958491140348</id><published>2008-09-17T14:35:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T14:38:08.843-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ham: Meal 4</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Fried Rice with Ham&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SNFqRQX02yI/AAAAAAAAAIE/fIqTxnd28rk/s1600-h/09-17-08_1407.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SNFqRQX02yI/AAAAAAAAAIE/fIqTxnd28rk/s400/09-17-08_1407.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247091885548559138" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;Fine.  You got me. I used a fork.  I'm retarded with chopsticks.  Its true.  I'll admit it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-6798702958491140348?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/6798702958491140348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=6798702958491140348' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6798702958491140348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6798702958491140348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/ham-meal-4.html' title='Ham: Meal 4'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SNFqRQX02yI/AAAAAAAAAIE/fIqTxnd28rk/s72-c/09-17-08_1407.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-6339023233496114429</id><published>2008-09-17T10:01:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-17T10:11:16.965-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Legacy MIRACLE</title><content type='html'>I have my Mary Kay Success Meetings in Kaysville at 6:30 on Tuesdays.  I usually leave The SLC at 5:15 to get there on time.  If you've never been on I-15 at that time of day, you should know that traffic leaving downtown heading into Davis County is a b*@#h.  Last night, my MK girlfriends and I met for our carpool as per usual, not really thinking about the fact that the new Legacy Highway opened on Saturday.  We got to Bountiful without slowing down once.  We were so happy.  We got to Farmington, still doing above freeway speeds.  We couldn't believe it.  The freeway was almost a ghost town!  We got to Kaysville &lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;45 minutes early&lt;/span&gt;.  Shut the front door!  The Legacy Highway is my new best friend.  For reals.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-6339023233496114429?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/6339023233496114429/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=6339023233496114429' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6339023233496114429'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6339023233496114429'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/legacy-miracle.html' title='The Legacy MIRACLE'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-3442255151967786368</id><published>2008-09-16T08:20:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-16T13:59:38.864-06:00</updated><title type='text'>On My Lonesome</title><content type='html'>Dave noticed that I listed the number of wake-ups until he gets home (currently 8) when I made &lt;a href="http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/ham-meal-2.html"&gt;the omelet&lt;/a&gt;, but he was shocked that I didn't explain where he is. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;OK, OK.  Maybe not shocked.  Probably more like curious as to why not.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, he's in South Carolina.  Not the glamorous beachy part.  The inside of South Carolina.  Specifically, &lt;a href="http://maps.google.com/maps?f=q&amp;amp;hl=en&amp;amp;geocode=&amp;amp;q=Spartanburg,+SC&amp;amp;ie=UTF8&amp;amp;ll=35.791083,-83.045654&amp;amp;spn=7.890919,18.544922&amp;amp;z=6"&gt;Spartanburg&lt;/a&gt;.  I'll spare you all of the details, but you see, Dave's mom was in need of some physical therapy to rebuild her lower body strength and quite literally get her back on her feet, and since Dave is a physical therapist...  Do you see where I'm going with this?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As I explained it to &lt;a href="http://www.sarahnielson.com/"&gt;Sarah&lt;/a&gt;, Dave went to his parent's house for a few weeks to walk his mom.  He'll be back soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-3442255151967786368?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/3442255151967786368/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=3442255151967786368' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3442255151967786368'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3442255151967786368'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/on-my-lonesome.html' title='On My Lonesome'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-3837944637944994682</id><published>2008-09-08T20:44:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T20:51:26.451-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ham: Meal 3</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ham and Potato Casserole&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMXjlH_VsUI/AAAAAAAAAH0/DHftZV57mJc/s1600-h/IMG_1140.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMXjlH_VsUI/AAAAAAAAAH0/DHftZV57mJc/s400/IMG_1140.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243847568082186562" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.cooks.com/rec/view/0,1727,157188-242198,00.html"&gt;This recipe&lt;/a&gt; was soooo sinfully simple and soooo devilishly delicious and decadent, that I'm going to put it directly into the naughty category.  No ifs, ands, or buts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, on second thought, some butt might be inevitable.&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/8584959343543660239-3837944637944994682?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/3837944637944994682/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=3837944637944994682' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3837944637944994682'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3837944637944994682'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/ham-meal-3.html' title='Ham: Meal 3'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMXjlH_VsUI/AAAAAAAAAH0/DHftZV57mJc/s72-c/IMG_1140.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-399457065296197855</id><published>2008-09-08T14:21:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T17:52:11.966-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Actually, It IS My First Rodeo</title><content type='html'>I went with some dear friends to the Utah State Fair last night.  Turns out cows are &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;much&lt;/span&gt; larger than they look from the highway.  I was a little afraid standing near them.  And while the deep-fried PB&amp;amp;J was warm and gooey and everything I could have hoped for, my first rodeo experience was not.  In fact, I found it to be a bit shocking and disturbing.  Here are a few of the things that you probably already know about the rodeo that shocked and disturbed me:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Parents put their children, as young as TWO-years-old, onto the back of a sheep and encourage them to hold on for dear life while the sheep hauls ass out of a pen.  The child inevitably falls off and slams into the ground.  They call this "mutten busting," but I'm pretty sure the only thing that ends up busted is the child.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Bull riding.  Just in general.  Shocking and disturbing.  Did you know that in order to get the bull to thrash around like that, they tie a rope around the parts that make it male?  I'd be pissed off and try to gore you with my horns, too.  Plus, it looks terrifying to be the dude that tries to hold on for 8 seconds.  I spent this entire event suffering from an anxiety attack.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The rodeo clown was neither funny nor entertaining.  But he was Canadian.  That's not really disturbing.  I was just surprised by it.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;The announcer dude announced into his microphone to the whole arena, "We need an EMT in shoot 5, pronto.  Looks like a lower extremity wound."  Um.  Can you say HIPAA violation?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;This mother was pulling her baby through the throng of exiting "rowdies" in a wagon.  As Nate pointed out, a stroller might have been a bit too ostentatious.  The thing that shocked and disturbed me was that she slowed down to have a kicking fight with her daughter.  They were giggling and having fun - nothing to report to DCFS - but come on, lady, we're all trying to get out of here in a timely, organized manner.  Stay focused.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;I'll admit, the barrel racing (I think that's what its called - the one where the babes ride their horses really fast in tight circles around three barrels) was really cool to see.  But as for an overall rodeo, I think I've had my fill for this lifetime.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-399457065296197855?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/399457065296197855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=399457065296197855' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/399457065296197855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/399457065296197855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/actually-it-is-my-first-rodeo.html' title='Actually, It IS My First Rodeo'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7131712972451487091</id><published>2008-09-07T14:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-07T14:21:24.955-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ham: Meal 2</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Ham and Cheese Omelet&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMQ3QQBV1bI/AAAAAAAAAHs/c88Bv-_9hPg/s1600-h/IMG_1135.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMQ3QQBV1bI/AAAAAAAAAHs/c88Bv-_9hPg/s400/IMG_1135.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5243376618484127154" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: left;"&gt;P.S.  Believe it or not, this is my first attempt at an omelet.  I'd say I did a good job.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.P.S.  17 wake-ups until Dave comes home.  Not that I'm counting.&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/8584959343543660239-7131712972451487091?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7131712972451487091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7131712972451487091' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7131712972451487091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7131712972451487091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/ham-meal-2.html' title='Ham: Meal 2'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMQ3QQBV1bI/AAAAAAAAAHs/c88Bv-_9hPg/s72-c/IMG_1135.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-3393845798631744258</id><published>2008-09-05T13:26:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-05T13:29:42.916-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ham: Day 1</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;Potato Soup with Cubed Ham and Little Sourdough Breadlettes&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMGIkKcQuLI/AAAAAAAAAHk/ogOlAfzG3YI/s1600-h/IMG_1134.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMGIkKcQuLI/AAAAAAAAAHk/ogOlAfzG3YI/s400/IMG_1134.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242621596095527090" 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/8584959343543660239-3393845798631744258?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/3393845798631744258/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=3393845798631744258' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3393845798631744258'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3393845798631744258'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/ham-day-1.html' title='Ham: Day 1'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMGIkKcQuLI/AAAAAAAAAHk/ogOlAfzG3YI/s72-c/IMG_1134.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4251891242611914342</id><published>2008-09-04T18:30:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-04T18:56:20.026-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Winner Winner Ham Dinner</title><content type='html'>I like turkey slices.  Sometimes on a sandwich.  Sometimes rolled up with a slice of white american cheese, also known as a "turkey doobie" thanks to Doug Heffernan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My turkey of choice is Boarshead Oven Gold.  Smith's has been running a promotion with Boarshead lately and every time I bought some turkey, they made me enter this raffle.  Today, they called me to tell me I WON!  Oh my god!  "What did I win?" I asked.  "A hat and a ham, I think," was the answer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to pick it up and it was true - I won a hat, a ham, and some glaze, in this lovely display box... &lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMCCqSSvv8I/AAAAAAAAAFg/XJtuD0QP4sU/s1600-h/IMG_1133.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMCCqSSvv8I/AAAAAAAAAFg/XJtuD0QP4sU/s320/IMG_1133.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5242333629235838914" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The presentation was a lot better when it was one whole ham.  But I had to have them slice it so I could freeze it. I got more sandwich-sized slices than I can possibly eat, and a ton of thick slices for cubing.  The girl at the deli suggested au gratin potatoes with ham.  I think I'll try to recreate the &lt;a href="http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/06/with-much-appreciation.html"&gt;alfredo from Este&lt;/a&gt;.  And I'm open to suggestions for the rest...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4251891242611914342?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4251891242611914342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4251891242611914342' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4251891242611914342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4251891242611914342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/winner-winner-ham-dinner.html' title='Winner Winner Ham Dinner'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SMCCqSSvv8I/AAAAAAAAAFg/XJtuD0QP4sU/s72-c/IMG_1133.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1697306021991088652</id><published>2008-09-02T09:52:00.006-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-02T14:55:22.551-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby's First Walk</title><content type='html'>Remember how a year ago &lt;a href="http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-ran-half-marathon.html"&gt;I ran a half marathon&lt;/a&gt;?  I'm not entirely sure what happened, but I became incredibly, unbelievably, embarrassingly lazy after that.  Hardly a workout.  It got to the point where, a couple of weeks ago, when &lt;a href="http://flickr.com/photos/knickyb/sets/72157606552018397/"&gt;Dave and I hiked the Albion Basin Trail&lt;/a&gt;, I became incredibly, unbelievably, embarrassingly nauseous.  I mean, come on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I decided I would work walking and yoga into my weekly plan for my new life.  This morning I went over to Sugarhouse Park for a couple of laps.  I was quickly and surprisingly (or maybe just quickly) out of breath. But, after two days of rain, rain, rain, the park was sunny and beautiful and peaceful and quiet.  And they even provide you with this word of encouragement:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SL1jZu9LjnI/AAAAAAAAAFY/6cwXX2hYktQ/s1600-h/09-02-08_0909.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SL1jZu9LjnI/AAAAAAAAAFY/6cwXX2hYktQ/s320/09-02-08_0909.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241454835081645682" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1697306021991088652?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1697306021991088652/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1697306021991088652' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1697306021991088652'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1697306021991088652'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/remember-how-year-ago-i-ran-half.html' title='Baby&apos;s First Walk'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SL1jZu9LjnI/AAAAAAAAAFY/6cwXX2hYktQ/s72-c/09-02-08_0909.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5880064606206011844</id><published>2008-09-01T17:33:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-09-01T18:04:06.769-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Wowsie Wowsie Woo</title><content type='html'>Rainy days and Sundays always get me down.  Or maybe its just the rainy Sunday that Dave leaves for three and a half weeks.  Yesterday was a total waste.  I thought a good rival to the rain (and issues of abandonment) would be a rousing game of Mexican Train Dominoes, so I invited the girls over and made a pitcher of margaritas, but that ended up totally falling through.  So instead of finding something else to do, I moped.  I ate crappy food, watched crappy tv, drank the afore mentioned margaritas, and became totally addicted to &lt;a href="http://www.by-art.com/collapse/collapse.php"&gt;Collapse&lt;/a&gt; (high score: 11158).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did manage to end on a high note - I enjoyed the thunder, lightening, pouring rain, and cool temperature snuggled under a big blankie and watching &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Talk to Me&lt;/span&gt;, about 1960s radio DJ &lt;a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ralph_Greene"&gt;Petey Greene.&lt;/a&gt;  It was really, really good!  I highly recommend it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I went to bed feeling like I was going to wake up energized and ready to take September by storm.  But that didn't work out so well.  Its 6:00 p.m. and I'm still in my jammies.  My hair is still gross.  And there's an America's Next Top Model marathon on.  Shit.  I guess I'm done for the day.  I did vacuum my entire one-bedroom condo, in an attempt to not feel like a complete waste.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Before Dave left, he did remind me that Monday is a holiday, so technically I don't have to start kicking ass until Tuesday.  Well, Tuesday, brace yourself.  I'm coming for you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5880064606206011844?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5880064606206011844/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5880064606206011844' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5880064606206011844'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5880064606206011844'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/09/wowsie-wowsie-woo.html' title='Wowsie Wowsie Woo'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1258421135557948282</id><published>2008-08-30T14:42:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-30T14:45:41.656-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Bitter Sweetness</title><content type='html'>I left my office yesterday for the last time.  I didn't expect to be so sad or feel so weird about it.  But it was weird and sad.  My desk is no longer my desk.  Britta is no longer my office mate.  Sheryl is no longer right outside my door.  I'll miss them tons.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the bright side, I officially work for myself, from home, and earn my living having girlfriend time.  I guess things aren't all bad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1258421135557948282?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1258421135557948282/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1258421135557948282' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1258421135557948282'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1258421135557948282'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/08/bitter-sweetness.html' title='Bitter Sweetness'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7295138427603940596</id><published>2008-08-22T13:25:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-22T13:34:08.716-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard in My Office, Part Two</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;me:&lt;/span&gt;  I wish my phone knew how to spell telekinesis.  I don't even know how to spell telekinesis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;britta:&lt;/span&gt;  t-e-l-e-k-i-n-e-s-i-s.  Telekinesis.  Oh man.  I miss spelling bees.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to miss Britta.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-7295138427603940596?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7295138427603940596/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7295138427603940596' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7295138427603940596'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7295138427603940596'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/08/overheard-in-my-office-part-two.html' title='Overheard in My Office, Part Two'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-3647399055420930892</id><published>2008-08-21T12:28:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T12:52:15.912-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Downsizing?  Seriously?</title><content type='html'>Britta is full of good stuff today.  She always reads the internet during her lunch, and came across &lt;a href="http://www.nytimes.com/2008/08/21/us/21condo.html?_r=1&amp;amp;adxnnl=1&amp;amp;oref=slogin&amp;amp;adxnnlx=1219343357-Eyho0AmPr72HJwNj2TguIA"&gt;this totally incredible article about Aaron Spelling's widow's house&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Britta says to me, "Guess how many square feet Aaron Spelling's widow's house is?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said, "49,000!" thinking that was like the size of Rhode Island, and there couldn't possibly be a house that large.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Britta says, "Nope.  Fifty six."  She pauses.  "Thousand.  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Thousand&lt;/span&gt;."  She explains that it has a wine tasting room, a bowling alley, and a well-known gift wrapping room.  Well-known.  Whatever.  I've never heard of it.  Then Britta proceeds to tell me that Mrs. Spelling is downsizing to a condo.  A 16,000 square foot condo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I grab my calculator.  "So what you're telling me is that you could fit 22.86 of my condo into her condo.  What do you do with that much condo?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Britta says, "How many of your condo can you fit into her house?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;80.  Almost 81.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Man.  I'd be happy with two of my condo.  Share the wealth, Mrs. Spelling.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-3647399055420930892?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/3647399055420930892/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=3647399055420930892' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3647399055420930892'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3647399055420930892'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/08/downsizing-seriously.html' title='Downsizing?  Seriously?'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1501400280742950647</id><published>2008-08-21T09:34:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-21T12:52:48.301-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard in My Office</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;britta &lt;/span&gt;&lt;span&gt;[to herself, while clicking all over the internet looking for corporate funding information]&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;:&lt;/span&gt;  Nationwide, why aren't you on &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;my &lt;/span&gt;side?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1501400280742950647?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1501400280742950647/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1501400280742950647' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1501400280742950647'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1501400280742950647'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/08/overheard-in-my-office.html' title='Overheard in My Office'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-6323848924426530818</id><published>2008-08-20T19:30:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-20T19:37:49.872-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Systematic</title><content type='html'>I'm trying to be organized and stay on top of everything, right?  So, gmail users, you know how you can "label" your emails, and they get sorted off to the left side there?  Well, I did that.  You know, a label for "Reply - Mary Kay" and "Reply - friends" and "Use this idea" and other such labels I thought would help me stay prioritized in my Mary Kay business.  The problem is, I put emails into these folders, and then don't really look at them again.  Dangit.  I've stayed pretty on top of answering emails from my customers, for obvious reasons (I hope they're obvious, anyway).  But the friends emails....eesh!  I'm embarrassed to admit that there were emails in there from May 6* that I had not answered.  So much for staying organized.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*If you emailed me on May 6, I'm terribly horribly incredibly embarrassingly sorry for not writing you back!!!  Please still be my friend.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-6323848924426530818?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/6323848924426530818/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=6323848924426530818' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6323848924426530818'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6323848924426530818'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/08/systematic.html' title='Systematic'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-2610450765168742751</id><published>2008-08-10T21:58:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-11T21:45:12.683-06:00</updated><title type='text'>As Seen On 400 South and 900 East</title><content type='html'>Dave and I were stopped at the light heading up to my folks' house.  (Happy Birthdays, Mom &amp;amp; Dad!)  This dude was crossing in the crosswalk.  He looked normal enough.  White tee, jeans, maybe a little bit straight-thuggin', but nothing over the top.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then he did this crazy knee raise with a fist-to-chest bump.*  At first I thought, maybe he tripped, although it seemed a little stylish for a trip.  But then he did it again.  OK, he's got moves.  On the third knee-raise-chest-bump I deemed it "tourette's-walking."  He tourette's-walked his way all the way through the cross walk and across the lawn at the Village Inn.  I wondered if he was meeting a buddy, or going to work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, no.  He started digging through the ash tray outside of the V.I., pulling out half-smoked cigs, all while shimmying his shoulders.  Dave said, "Don't stare.  Its not polite."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I replied, "But he's still dancing.  While digging through the garbage."  (He had moved from the ash tray to the garbage can, still shimmying, which in my mind, made it appropriate to stare.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dave said, "And there doesn't appear to be any apparent music, does there?"  At which point the light turned green and we had to forge on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Damn you, light.  I was watching that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;* Edit:  Dave just asked what I was doing, and when I told him I was blogging about the tourette's-walker, he found &lt;a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eLD2iZWHLAM"&gt;this clip from &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Cadence&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt; and said, "Isn't this what that guy was doing?"  It is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-2610450765168742751?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/2610450765168742751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=2610450765168742751' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2610450765168742751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2610450765168742751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/08/as-seen-on-400-south-and-900-east.html' title='As Seen On 400 South and 900 East'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-8114038267917201127</id><published>2008-08-08T14:06:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-08T14:11:12.986-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Small Lake City</title><content type='html'>This is crazy.  Brad and Maeve were telling us at dinner on Wednesday about their friend Christy who was rafting and happened upon a plane crash.  I couldn't imagine.  &lt;a href="http://baughtronic.blogspot.com/2008/07/desolation.html"&gt;So I read her account&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then today I was catching up on Trav's blog, &lt;a href="http://travisaurus.blogspot.com/2008/07/real-river-trip-blog.html"&gt;and came across the same story&lt;/a&gt;!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Turns out Trav and Christy float rivers together.  How random.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-8114038267917201127?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/8114038267917201127/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=8114038267917201127' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8114038267917201127'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8114038267917201127'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/08/small-lake-city.html' title='Small Lake City'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5283991228164124855</id><published>2008-08-08T12:41:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-08-08T12:43:17.963-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Frustration</title><content type='html'>What is up with the internet?  Is it the rain?  I just spent some valuable work time updating my layout to include a blogroll of my friends, complete with RSS feed so I know when there are new posts and can make a better attempt at keeping up with everyone's stories.  But it doesn't appear to be working.  Is it working for you, my dedicated fans?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Internet, stop being a tool.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5283991228164124855?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5283991228164124855/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5283991228164124855' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5283991228164124855'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5283991228164124855'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/08/frustration.html' title='Frustration'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-3085504660983579067</id><published>2008-07-30T10:19:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-07-30T10:24:33.803-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Big City Living</title><content type='html'>I've always wanted to live somewhere with good public transit.  And last night I got to experience what it might be like.  I had my Mary Kay unit meeting in Kaysville, but that tanker thinger fell off that big rig, so the freeway was closed.  So I decided to take Front Runner.  I knew I was cutting it close time-wise, and of course that's the time when I can't find a parking spot.  I finally found one and ran for two blocks in high heels to get to the station.  So big city!  I got there as people were getting on, and smooshed myself into the train right before the doors closed.  Sardine style.  I guess a lot of people decided to leave their cars downtown for the night and just get themselves home.  The train was super-di-duper crowded.  But I loved it.  I think I'll use Front Runner more often.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-3085504660983579067?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/3085504660983579067/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=3085504660983579067' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3085504660983579067'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3085504660983579067'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/07/big-city-living.html' title='Big City Living'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5370763318098092456</id><published>2008-07-27T11:58:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-07-27T12:03:11.058-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Long Overdue Post: Dave's Drill</title><content type='html'>Dave moved in, right? And then I used his drill. And of course I immediately spilled beer all ...over? ...into? ...it.  I thought I was going to get in so much trouble. But instead of freaking out, Dave said, "Well, dry it off. Does it still work? [it did] OK, then." Phew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The great thing about it was I got to turn this:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SHlHJHbCGoI/AAAAAAAAAEw/032h3SUJc7s/s1600-h/IMG_0726.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SHlHJHbCGoI/AAAAAAAAAEw/032h3SUJc7s/s200/IMG_0726.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222283464849627778" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;and this:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SHlHXamKG-I/AAAAAAAAAE4/EBL-4JRyZds/s1600-h/IMG_0613.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SHlHXamKG-I/AAAAAAAAAE4/EBL-4JRyZds/s200/IMG_0613.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5222283710514732002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;into this:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SIy30GoOJkI/AAAAAAAAAFA/u6wr2vmUMhs/s1600-h/IMG_0774.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SIy30GoOJkI/AAAAAAAAAFA/u6wr2vmUMhs/s200/IMG_0774.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227755373230696002" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;and this:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SIy4EqJbwZI/AAAAAAAAAFI/vJJwCIwqWcU/s1600-h/IMG_0773.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SIy4EqJbwZI/AAAAAAAAAFI/vJJwCIwqWcU/s200/IMG_0773.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5227755657643147666" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5370763318098092456?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5370763318098092456/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5370763318098092456' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5370763318098092456'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5370763318098092456'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/07/long-overdue-post-daves-drill.html' title='Long Overdue Post: Dave&apos;s Drill'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SHlHJHbCGoI/AAAAAAAAAEw/032h3SUJc7s/s72-c/IMG_0726.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-840611673831687992</id><published>2008-07-15T18:48:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T18:52:50.020-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard at Harmon's, Your Neighborhood Grocer</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;bagger girl:&lt;/span&gt;  I'm looking forward to some rain this evening!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;damon yauney&lt;/span&gt;:  You'll have a better chance tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;lady in line in front of me:&lt;/span&gt;  Its supposed to rain today?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;bagger girl:&lt;/span&gt;  It looks like it, but he says there's a better chance tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;lady in line in front of me:  &lt;/span&gt;What does he know?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;bagger girl:&lt;/span&gt;  Well, he &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;is&lt;/span&gt; the weather man on TV.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;lady in line in front of me:  &lt;/span&gt;Oh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-840611673831687992?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/840611673831687992/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=840611673831687992' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/840611673831687992'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/840611673831687992'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/07/overheard-at-harmons-your-neighborhood.html' title='Overheard at Harmon&apos;s, Your Neighborhood Grocer'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4083685889545555078</id><published>2008-07-15T09:18:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-07-15T09:23:18.540-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Regarding Breakfast</title><content type='html'>Dear The Bagelry,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why you want to leave me?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so sad.  Sometimes, when a girl forces herself to stay up until midnight working, and then she wakes up at 7:00 to go to her J-O-B, she really wants to stop for a delicious garlic, onion, and sea salt bagel.  But you were the only bagel shop who made them.  And you closed.  And that makes me so sad.  Other bagels in this valley pale in comparison.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jerks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hungrily,&lt;br /&gt;Jessica&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4083685889545555078?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4083685889545555078/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4083685889545555078' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4083685889545555078'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4083685889545555078'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/07/regarding-breakfast.html' title='Regarding Breakfast'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-814877970756854263</id><published>2008-06-26T10:05:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-26T10:14:32.836-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Question of Socially Accepta...bility...ness?</title><content type='html'>As I was leaving for work this morning, I passed this dude who was walking his dog on my street.  He was what you might call "large and in charge."  Which is fine.  But clearly, bending over was a bit of an effort for him.  I say this because I noticed him come up to a tree that was hanging lower than he was tall, and rather than duck under the branches and go on with his life, he started breaking off the branches so he could walk under them without bending.  And then he was dropping the branches in the tree owner's yard.  Which made me wonder...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;Is it socially acceptable to break someone's tree?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Who is responsible for the portion of the tree hanging over the public sidewalk?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Is it socially acceptable to leave the broken branches in someone's yard? &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Or, if the city is responsible for the sidewalk portion of the trees, should you throw the branches in the street, which the city, I assume, is also responsible for?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;But if you throw the branches in the street, and the city people come by and see them, does the owner of the house now look like a littering dipshit, and do you want that on your conscience?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;So tell me, what is the socially acceptable way to deal with a tree or bush or other form of plantlife that is encroaching on your walk?  As someone who prefers the sidewalk over the street, I've spent many a walk or run wondering about that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-814877970756854263?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/814877970756854263/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=814877970756854263' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/814877970756854263'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/814877970756854263'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/06/question-of-socially-acceptabilityness.html' title='A Question of Socially Accepta...bility...ness?'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-8141956137433157638</id><published>2008-06-23T13:34:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-23T13:53:15.538-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard at the Bees Game</title><content type='html'>Dave and I went to the Bees game Saturday.  There's always an interesting crowd.  Including big, leather-clad, ponytailed biker dudes.  One of them was wearing a vest, and the image on the back prompted this conversation:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;jess&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;:&lt;/span&gt;  What is pow mia?  I've seen &lt;a href="http://www.jaminleather.net/images/vm248pow_4097.jpg"&gt;that vest&lt;/a&gt; before and always wondered...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;dave&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;:  &lt;/span&gt;Its an acronym that stands for Prisoner of War Missing in Action.  See how it says, "you are not forgotten" at the bottom.  Its referring to the Prisoner of War.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;jess&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;:  &lt;/span&gt;Oh.  I always thought that image on the back looked more like a prison.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;dave&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;:  &lt;/span&gt;Prisoners of War &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;are &lt;/span&gt;in prisons.&lt;/blockquote&gt;In case you haven't met me, I'm an idiot.  Thank god Dave loves me anyway.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-8141956137433157638?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/8141956137433157638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=8141956137433157638' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8141956137433157638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8141956137433157638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/06/overheard-at-bees-game.html' title='Overheard at the Bees Game'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-3813114529022836134</id><published>2008-06-20T18:37:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-20T18:48:45.360-06:00</updated><title type='text'>We're Famous . . . at Least in the City Weekly</title><content type='html'>&lt;span class="articleTitle"&gt;Sports | Kickin’ It Old School: Adult kickball leagues relive the days of recess—only with beer&lt;/span&gt;             &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;      &lt;span class="articleByLine"&gt;        By         Geoff Griffin        &lt;/span&gt;            &lt;br /&gt;     &lt;span class="header4"&gt;Posted 06/19/2008&lt;/span&gt;      &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          &lt;table align="right" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0"&gt;       &lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;        &lt;td&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;       &lt;/tr&gt;      &lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;                     &lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;The remarkable growth of the &lt;a style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);" target="_blank" href="http://www.kickball.com/waka_divisions.php"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Utah Capital Division&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold; color: rgb(0, 0, 0);"&gt; &lt;/span&gt;of the World Adult Kickball Association (WAKA) is pretty easy to explain according to league president Beau Brosius: “It’s like having recess and then having beers. That’s the whole appeal.” &lt;/span&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;On Thursday evenings in the spring, summer and fall, more than 200 men and women on 13 teams—mostly singles in their 20s and 30s—gather at Liberty Park and Bennion Elementary School to play co-ed games of kickball complete with uniforms, refs and team names such as “Little Lebowski Urban Achievers,” “Crazy Pitches” and “Multiple Scorgasms,” before heading off to The Woodshed, the division’s “official” bar. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;And yes, they play the kickball you’re thinking of, the same game you last played in fourth grade where somebody rolls you a big red rubber ball, you kick it and then run the bases under pretty much the same rules as baseball. The big difference between fourth grade and now is what happens after the game, which includes what beverages you can obtain and the increased knowledge about the opposite sex you’ve gained (or maybe not) in the 20 years since you last played. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;img alt="" src="http://www.slweekly.com/data/449BBE6E-021E-D69E-7A3370304BA7D31B/userData/Image/080619/AE1_080619.jpg" align="left" border="1" height="190" hspace="5" vspace="2" width="285" /&gt;WAKA, the national organization the Utah league plays under, claims nearly 50,000 players in divisions in 27 states. WAKA, which bills kickball as a “co-ed social sport” with a playing pool made up of 50 percent of each gender, sends out press releases touting all of the married couples produced by kickball (the Salt Lake City league recently produced its first engagement) and emphasizes that one of the ingredients for the sport’s growth is “a whole lotta beer.” Every division is required to have an official bar, and part of every player’s registration fee goes toward paying for beer at the end-of-season blowout party. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;A significant number of players in the Utah Capital Division are transplants whose work or education brought them to Zion. For them, kickball provides the answer to the eternal question: “How do you meet people in Salt Lake City if you don’t go to LDS Sacrament Meeting?” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;“This is sort of the transplant, non-LDS magnet,” jokes Hanna Huegel, the league’s social chair. She moved from New York City to Salt Lake City where, “I didn’t know a single person”; now, “all of my friends are from kickball or one degree removed from kickball.” She notes that the Salt Lake City league “has a different dynamic” in that relationships developed through kickball tend to extend to other areas, and there are more friendships between teams. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;WAKA began in 1998 in Washington, D.C., and gradually found its way to Utah in the fall of 2006, when a former D.C. player moved to Salt Lake City, put up flyers and a posting on Craig’s List and had enough people respond to form five teams of 15-22 players. That group included those who’d already been gathering as friends for several years to play “pick-up” kickball games. In less than two years, the league has expanded to 13 teams, and there is talk of forming a second league in Sandy in the near future. Players can sign up as individuals or in small groups to be assigned to teams. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Just like recess back in the day, kickball games begin with a rock-paper-scissors throw to determine home team. Each team has 11 players in the field, and at least four of those have to be of one gender or the other. While there is definitely a power component to the game that favors those with a Y chromosome, Heugel says, “a lot of times it’s easier to bunt and keep the ball low to the ground. The size of the ball, bunts and speed even things up pretty quickly. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;“It’s one of those sports where guys aren’t necessarily better than girls.” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Clarence “The Head Ref” Willardson says telling your co-workers you play kickball can often draw snickers, “but once they come out here and see it, they ask, ‘How can I join?’” Brosius reports that every season, the league picks up new recruits from people who just happen to walk by and see the games in progress. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;“You don’t have to be all that athletic to play it,” Willardson says. “A lot of people come for the friendships. There are some guys who are all about the game, but there are some teams that can’t wait for the game to get over so they can get over to the bar and grab a beer.” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Although the league has a traveling trophy—sort of like a mini-Stanley Cup—things rarely get too competitive because, as Huegel puts it, “Nobody played in college. Nobody had a kickball scholarship.” And at the other end of the spectrum, “There are no kickball power-parents.” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Whoever ends up being better, Brosius says the end result is always the same: “We compete against each other for five innings, but then everyone goes and sloshes beer mugs together.” &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/p&gt;  &lt;strong&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;WAKA Utah Capital Division &lt;/span&gt;&lt;a target="_blank" href="http://www.kickball.com/"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;Kickball.com&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-3813114529022836134?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/3813114529022836134/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=3813114529022836134' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3813114529022836134'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3813114529022836134'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/06/were-famous-at-least-in-city-weekly.html' title='We&apos;re Famous . . . at Least in the City Weekly'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-6531627315474289931</id><published>2008-06-15T21:48:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-15T22:07:33.840-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Letter to the Parents Who Think it is Socially Acceptable to Take Their Children to see Iron Man</title><content type='html'>Dear Parents,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't mean to be a Complainy McWhinerson, but why do you bring your children to movies?  I love children.  Everyone who knows me knows that.  But I prefer them not at movies. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I mean, Iron Man is loud and action packed.  Babies might not like the loudness.  In fact, it might make them cry.  And then you have to walk back and forth in front of everyone.  And that's just not very polite. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And if your children are of talking age, but the things they continue to say throughout the entire movie consist of, "what's that mean?" and "what's happening now?" and "is he dead?" then they might not be old enough to handle a movie like Iron Man.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just saying.  There are probably plenty of teen-aged girls in this valley who would be willing to babysit for a few hours for not a lot of money.  And netflix is pretty affordable, if you insist on watching movies with your kidlettes.  Actually, now that I'm thinking about it, I'm nearly positive that the Larry H. Miller theaters have specific movie times when you can bring your kids with you.  Maybe try that.  I would be so grateful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Appreciatively,&lt;br /&gt;Jessica&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-6531627315474289931?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/6531627315474289931/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=6531627315474289931' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6531627315474289931'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6531627315474289931'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/06/letter-to-parents-who-think-it-is.html' title='A Letter to the Parents Who Think it is Socially Acceptable to Take Their Children to see Iron Man'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1677461600029839425</id><published>2008-06-10T21:52:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-10T22:05:13.593-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Long Overdue Post:  Baby Mouse</title><content type='html'>Dave doesn't think I blog about him enough.  So I will.  A while back, Dave read &lt;a href="http://www.esquire.com/women/10-things-you-dont-know-about-women/mindy-kaling-0508"&gt;an interview in Esquire with Kelly from The Office where she talks about the ten things men don't know about women&lt;/a&gt;.  I guess this is a regular feature in Esquire - where a famous girl says the ten things she thinks men don't know about women.  Or something along those lines.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway...  Dave read Mindy Kaling's list and really took to heart the suggestion that you nickname your girlfriend something smaller than a bread box.  He's taken a particular liking to "Baby Mouse."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so have I.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example, it was raining when we were leaving for Vegas and I was complaining about having to walk through the parking lot and Dave said, "I'll just put you in my pocket and protect you from the rain, Baby Mouse."  How cute is that?  For reals.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1677461600029839425?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1677461600029839425/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1677461600029839425' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1677461600029839425'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1677461600029839425'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/06/long-overdue-post-baby-mouse.html' title='Long Overdue Post:  Baby Mouse'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-3050207959535687341</id><published>2008-06-07T12:43:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-07T13:04:27.599-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Long Overdue Posts</title><content type='html'>I just want you all to know that in the past few whirlwind-ish months of my life, I have been neglecting my blog not for lack of blog fodder, but because I had neither the time nor energy to type anything that was unrelated to Big Brothers Big Sisters of Utah.  But life appears to be slowing down, and I have a list in my brain of the things I've been meaning to blog about.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For example, on rainy May 1, I was driving from one meeting to another, and saw this:&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SErbjPIVJMI/AAAAAAAAAEI/Gauo2WHP0KM/s1600-h/IMG_0736.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SErbjPIVJMI/AAAAAAAAAEI/Gauo2WHP0KM/s400/IMG_0736.JPG" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5209217317410776258" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;Dos Equis.  All over the road.  I guess this is what happens when you forget to close the back of your beer truck.  My favorite part of this scene was the crazy looking, toothless, homeless lady who parked her shopping cart in the gas station parking lot to help the pony-tailed, incredibly distraught looking beer truck driver pick up the bottles off the road.  He was trying to pick up a box, fill it with as much broken glass as he could, and sweep the rest to the gutter with his foot.  She was picking up one half bottle at a time, and carrying it over to the driver to hand it to him.  Hilarious.  I was actually thankful the long red light for once.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-3050207959535687341?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/3050207959535687341/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=3050207959535687341' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3050207959535687341'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3050207959535687341'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/06/long-overdue-posts.html' title='Long Overdue Posts'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SErbjPIVJMI/AAAAAAAAAEI/Gauo2WHP0KM/s72-c/IMG_0736.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4885950767178109301</id><published>2008-06-04T12:56:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-04T12:58:27.931-06:00</updated><title type='text'>With Much Appreciation</title><content type='html'>Dear &lt;a href="http://www.estepizzacompany.com/"&gt;Este&lt;/a&gt;,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for making pasta.  The fusili with alfredo and ham is my favorite.  Because I'm silly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Jessica&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4885950767178109301?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4885950767178109301/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4885950767178109301' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4885950767178109301'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4885950767178109301'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/06/with-much-appreciation.html' title='With Much Appreciation'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-6243898510024309751</id><published>2008-06-01T21:39:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-01T21:41:16.248-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard on the Lazy River</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;boyfriend:&lt;/span&gt;  Hurry up!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;girlfriend:  &lt;/span&gt;Its the &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;lazy&lt;/span&gt; river - you don't &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;paddle&lt;/span&gt;!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-6243898510024309751?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/6243898510024309751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=6243898510024309751' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6243898510024309751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6243898510024309751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/06/overheard-on-lazy-river.html' title='Overheard on the Lazy River'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4179510711376959585</id><published>2008-06-01T21:33:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-06-01T21:39:10.133-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard at the Bayside Buffet</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;german mother, to waitress&lt;/span&gt;:  We would like two orange juices and two hot chocolate milks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;young boy, angrily to mother&lt;/span&gt;:  NEIN!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;german mother, to waitress&lt;/span&gt;:  We would like three orange juices and an extra glass so we can share them between the children.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4179510711376959585?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4179510711376959585/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4179510711376959585' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4179510711376959585'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4179510711376959585'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/06/overheard-at-bayside-buffet.html' title='Overheard at the Bayside Buffet'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4664735385119562188</id><published>2008-05-30T21:30:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2008-05-30T22:35:42.133-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Five Days in Vegas</title><content type='html'>Ahhh...  I finally feel relaxed...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dave and I just got home from five days at Mandalay Bay.  It was glorious.  Our daily routine consisted of:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ol&gt;&lt;li&gt;Waking up.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Putting on sunblock.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Stopping by Starbucks.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Getting to the pool around 8:00 a.m. to enjoy the perfect, sunny, mid-80s to low-90s weather.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Setting up our loungers with three towels each - one to protect you from the chair, one for a pillow, and one for ...whatever - and a small chair in between, which served as a table.  (I highly recommend the back side of the lazy river.  Quiet, low traffic, minimal amount of tough guys and dirty girls.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Lounging until sweaty.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Taking a lap around the lazy river.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Lounge.  Lap.  Lounge.  Lap.  Lounge.  Lap.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Heading inside about the time that all of the Smokey McHungoveredsons got to the pool and started blowing their smoke and aggravating my allergies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Napping, showering, eating a late lunch.  (Diablos, attached to Monte Carlo, is the bomb.  They have a wheel that they spin every 30 minutes from 3:00 to 6:00, and whichever drink it stops on only costs $3.00 for that half hour.  And the club quesadillas were to-die-for delicious.)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Checking something out.  I.E., the Miracle Mile shops at Planet Hollywood, New York New York, the Paigow Poker table at Bally's.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Seeing something.  I.E., Zumanity (so totally amazing!!!!!!), Jubilee (pretty amazing, but slightly overshadowed by Zumanity - I recommend seeing Jubilee first).&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Late dinner and/or dessert.  (Nine Fine Irishmen, at New York New York, was so so yummy and had a live Irish rock band with an Irish dancer.  I loved it.)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;In bed by midnight in order to be well rested for tomorrow's lounging.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ol&gt;I've said it before, and I'll say it again:  Vacation's my favorite.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4664735385119562188?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4664735385119562188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4664735385119562188' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4664735385119562188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4664735385119562188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/05/five-days-in-vegas.html' title='Five Days in Vegas'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-2922211037073992971</id><published>2008-04-25T13:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-04-25T13:47:34.339-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dream Brought on by Eaters Remorse</title><content type='html'>So, I'm back at the W.W.  Not in my dream, but in real life.  I knew it was time when I reached my original weight watchers starting weight and was down to two shirts and one skirt that fit.  But yesterday I woke up on the wrong side of the bed and had an awful day and let me emotions drive right through the Burger King Drive Through.  Then I drank a couple of beers after kickball.  Then I had an ice cream sandwich for a bedtime snack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I dreamt that I had had surgery.  Not like a gastric bypass, but ...well, I don't know what.  In my dream I was in a lot of pain because I had all of these little 1-2 inch incisions on my stomach and legs, where they were sucking out the fat, presumably.  Anyway, I was wearing normal clothes - like jeans.  And the jeans were rubbing on my incisions.  And it hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moral of the story is:  Although a BK TenderCrisp sandwich is delicious, it is not worth the pain and suffering.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the beer is.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-2922211037073992971?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/2922211037073992971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=2922211037073992971' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2922211037073992971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2922211037073992971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/04/dream-brought-on-by-eaters-remorse.html' title='The Dream Brought on by Eaters Remorse'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5376337242290265169</id><published>2008-04-23T23:04:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-04-23T23:09:21.849-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Reason to Love Rana #8675309</title><content type='html'>For those of you who may be unfamiliar, goodreads.com is a myspace-ish networking website for book nerds.  Unless your Rana.  Most of my friends on goodreads have like 100 books and a few friends.  Not Rana.  Rana has 0 books and 5 friends.  Rana doesn't even need to think of a book to be awesome on goodreads.  Rana is just plain awesome.  End of story.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5376337242290265169?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5376337242290265169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5376337242290265169' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5376337242290265169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5376337242290265169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/04/reason-to-love-rana-8675309.html' title='Reason to Love Rana #8675309'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-6368346488424267247</id><published>2008-04-04T11:50:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-04-04T12:05:44.899-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I Know This Church Is True</title><content type='html'>And I say these things in the name of Snoop D-O-Double-Gizzle.  Amen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:130%;"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;font-size:130%;" &gt;Rapper Snoop Dogg converts to Mormonism&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div id="cnnHeaderLeftCol"&gt;&lt;!-- google_ad_section_end --&gt;&lt;!--endclickprintinclude--&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div id="cnnHeaderRightCol"&gt;&lt;!--startclickprintinclude--&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;script type="text/javascript"&gt;/*if(window.location.pathname.indexOf('/2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/04/01/film.theloveguru.ap/index.html')!=-1){ var nxtStryCSIMgr = CSIManager.getInstance().call('/.element/ssi/auto/2.0/sect/SHOWBIZ/nextStory0.exclude.html','','cnnNextStoryCSI');}              if(window.location.pathname.indexOf('/2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/04/01/people.adam.sandler.ap/index.html')!=-1){ var nxtStryCSIMgr = CSIManager.getInstance().call('/.element/ssi/auto/2.0/sect/SHOWBIZ/nextStory1.exclude.html','','cnnNextStoryCSI');}              if(window.location.pathname.indexOf('/2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/04/01/people.cusack.ap/index.html')!=-1){ var nxtStryCSIMgr = CSIManager.getInstance().call('/.element/ssi/auto/2.0/sect/SHOWBIZ/nextStory2.exclude.html','','cnnNextStoryCSI');}              if(window.location.pathname.indexOf('/2008/SHOWBIZ/Music/04/01/people.jessicasimpson.ap/index.html')!=-1){ var nxtStryCSIMgr = CSIManager.getInstance().call('/.element/ssi/auto/2.0/sect/SHOWBIZ/nextStory3.exclude.html','','cnnNextStoryCSI');}              if(window.location.pathname.indexOf('/2008/SHOWBIZ/03/31/levert.obit.ap/index.html')!=-1){ var nxtStryCSIMgr = CSIManager.getInstance().call('/.element/ssi/auto/2.0/sect/SHOWBIZ/nextStory4.exclude.html','','cnnNextStoryCSI');}              if(window.location.pathname.indexOf('/2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/03/31/hollywood.labor.ap/index.html')!=-1){ var nxtStryCSIMgr = CSIManager.getInstance().call('/.element/ssi/auto/2.0/sect/SHOWBIZ/nextStory5.exclude.html','','cnnNextStoryCSI');} */           &lt;/script&gt;&lt;div id="csiIframeObjscsi3"&gt;&lt;iframe src="http://www.benderboyz.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Music/04/01/index%20Files/nextStory0.html" name="csiDataIframecsi3" id="csiDataIframecsi3" style="visibility: hidden; position: absolute; top: 0px; left: -100px;" height="10" width="10"&gt;&lt;/iframe&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;!--endclickprintexclude--&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;!--endclickprintinclude--&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="cnnWCBoxHeader"&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.benderboyz.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Music/04/01/index%20Files/corner_dg_TL.gif" alt="" border="0" height="4" width="4" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;!-- google_ad_section_start --&gt;&lt;!-- CONTENT --&gt;&lt;!-- REAP --&gt;&lt;!-- PURGE --&gt;&lt;!-- KEEP --&gt;&lt;!--startclickprintinclude--&gt;  &lt;script language="JavaScript" type="text/javascript"&gt;var clickExpire = "05/1/2008";&lt;/script&gt;&lt;!--startclickprintexclude--&gt; &lt;div id="cnnSCFontButtons"&gt;&lt;!--endclickprintexclude--&gt;&lt;div id="cnnSCByLine"&gt;By  Aaron Nichols&lt;br /&gt;CNN&lt;/div&gt;&lt;!--startclickprintexclude--&gt;     &lt;div id="cnnSCFontPlusBtn" onclick="setActiveStyleSheet('LargeFont'); return false;"&gt;   &lt;b&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/b&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://www.benderboyz.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Music/04/01/index%20Files/art.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://www.benderboyz.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Music/04/01/index%20Files/art.jpg" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;b&gt;DIAMOND BAR, California (AP) &lt;/b&gt; -- In what some may consider an unexpected move, rap artist "Snoop Dogg" has reportedly converted to Mormonism after nearly a year of study with the fast-growing, Utah-based faith.&lt;/div&gt;  &lt;/div&gt;&lt;!--endclickprintexclude--&gt;&lt;!--startclickprintexclude--&gt; &lt;!--endclickprintexclude--&gt; &lt;!--startclickprintexclude--&gt;                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       &lt;!-- PURGE: /2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/04/01/film.theloveguru.ap/art.myers.ap.jpg --&gt;&lt;!-- KEEP --&gt;&lt;div class="cnnStoryPhotoBox"&gt;&lt;div id="cnnImgChngr" class="cnnImgChngr"&gt;&lt;!----&gt;&lt;!--===========IMAGE============--&gt;&lt;!--===========/IMAGE===========--&gt;&lt;div class="cnnStoryPhotoCaptionBox"&gt;&lt;div class="cnn3pxTB9pxLRPad"&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;!--===========CAPTION==========--&gt;Snoop Dogg says he "can't get enough of the Book of Mormon."&lt;!--===========/CAPTION=========--&gt;&lt;img src="http://www.benderboyz.com/2008/SHOWBIZ/Music/04/01/index%20Files/corner_wire_BL_002.gif" alt="" height="4" width="4" /&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;!-- /PURGE: /2008/SHOWBIZ/Movies/04/01/film.theloveguru.ap/art.myers.ap.jpg --&gt;                              &lt;!--endclickprintexclude--&gt;&lt;p&gt; In a statement, a spokeswoman for Snoop Dogg -- whose real name is Calvin Broadus -- said he considers himself extremely fortunate to have discovered such a deep sense of spiritual fulfillment at this stage in his life. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; “Mr. Broadus is also very pleased to find that his family is as enthusiastic about attending church services as he is,” the spokeswoman said.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; However, Snoop Dogg has not been enthusiastic about publicly sharing his experience and declined to be interviewed by CNN for this article. In fact, he reportedly informed producers of his E! reality show "Snoop Dogg's Father Hood" that this particular aspect of his family's life was off-limits to the cameras. Still, he left open the possibility of addressing the subject in future episodes.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; According to the Associated Press, Snoop Dogg was first introduced to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, as the Mormon Church is officially known, after attending a Gladys Knight concert in an LDS meeting house in Los Angeles. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Knight, who very publicly discusses her conversion to Mormonism several years ago, invited Snoop Dogg to what is known to the Mormon faithful as “Family Home Evening,” a church program that encourages families to set aside Monday evenings for gospel-centered lessons and family togetherness. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Though Snoop Dogg has been hesitant to publicly discuss his recent spiritual journey, he commented on the experience of attending his first “Family Home Evening” in a &lt;a href="http://peoplemagazine.co.nr/people/article/008675309" target="_blank" style="text-decoration: underline;"&gt;recent interview with People Magazine.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/p&gt; &lt;p&gt; “I was hooked from the start,” Snoop Dogg said. “We talked about the purpose of life, played Mousetrap, and ate brownies. The kids thought it was off the hook, for real.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; In what Snoop Dogg now thinks was anything but a coincidence, Mormon missionaries had knocked on his door just one week before the Knight concert. He said he had initially turned them away because of what he knew about the strict Mormon health code, which prohibits members from smoking, drinking alcohol, and using drugs. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; “Y’all know me,” he said grinning broadly. “There were just certain things the old me -- the "natural man" -- needed to do. And these young guys are telling me that God’s not down with disrespecting ourselves. But it’s cool now.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Snoop Dogg said his conversion marks the end of his old life, one that included frequent run-ins with the law. Snoop Dogg was convicted in 1990 of cocaine possession and charged with gun possession after a 1993 traffic stop. In 1997, he pleaded guilty in exchange for a lighter sentence. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; In 1996, Snoop Dogg was acquitted of murder after a purported gangbanger was killed by gunfire from the vehicle in which Snoop Dogg was traveling. &lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; Snoop Dogg dismisses critics who claim his conversion is intended to placate a Salt Lake County judge, before whom he is appealing an alleged probation violation.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;p&gt; “Listen, the haters will say what they will,” Snoop Dogg said. “I can only do what I feel is right.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-6368346488424267247?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/6368346488424267247/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=6368346488424267247' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6368346488424267247'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6368346488424267247'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/04/i-know-this-church-is-true.html' title='I Know This Church Is True'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-598015393510078286</id><published>2008-03-27T19:04:00.005-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-27T19:17:53.768-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Miles Jay's Birth Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;8 pounds 3 ounces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div style="text-align: center;"&gt;21.5 inches.&lt;br /&gt;Lots of hair.&lt;br /&gt;A great big voice.&lt;br /&gt;Congratulations Maeve &amp;amp; Bradley!!&lt;br /&gt;Thank you for my beautiful, perfect, amazing nephew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/R-xHGu1ScNI/AAAAAAAAAD4/z_or_YOGIWA/s1600-h/2367003669_4ce0bb4c6e_b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/R-xHGu1ScNI/AAAAAAAAAD4/z_or_YOGIWA/s320/2367003669_4ce0bb4c6e_b.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5182595452172923090" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-598015393510078286?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/598015393510078286/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=598015393510078286' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/598015393510078286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/598015393510078286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/03/miles-birth-day.html' title='Miles Jay&apos;s Birth Day'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/R-xHGu1ScNI/AAAAAAAAAD4/z_or_YOGIWA/s72-c/2367003669_4ce0bb4c6e_b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-2965017191495878530</id><published>2008-03-22T18:06:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-22T18:12:05.522-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dream Where Miles Was Born</title><content type='html'>My nephew, Miles Jay, could be born any second. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night I dreamt that he was born, and he was an itty bitty, teeny tiny, kangaroo-like baby.  Kangaroo-like in that he was only a couple of inches big and would just kind of cling/crawl on you.  But he was shaped like a human.  He was so tiny and cute and everyone loved him and everyone wanted to cradle him in the palm of their hand.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It really doesn't make any sense though, because, no offense to Maeve, but she is enormous.  Not in a bad way.  In a mesmerizing, there's-a-person-in-there way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-2965017191495878530?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/2965017191495878530/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=2965017191495878530' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2965017191495878530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2965017191495878530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/03/dream-where-miles-was-born.html' title='The Dream Where Miles Was Born'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-2874620586730092564</id><published>2008-03-17T11:53:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-17T11:57:31.941-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A Prayer</title><content type='html'>Dear Saint Patrick, please give me the strength to avoid the candy jar, full to the brim with delicious treats, so that I can protect the seams of my favorite green sweater on this, the most holiest of holidays.  Amen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-2874620586730092564?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/2874620586730092564/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=2874620586730092564' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2874620586730092564'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2874620586730092564'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/03/prayer.html' title='A Prayer'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-337865119093500686</id><published>2008-03-12T09:45:00.001-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-12T09:48:34.139-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Mysteries of Life</title><content type='html'>Why is it that whenever you're in a hurry, every light is red, but when you want to put your lipstick on, every light is green?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-337865119093500686?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/337865119093500686/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=337865119093500686' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/337865119093500686'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/337865119093500686'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/03/mysteries-of-life.html' title='Mysteries of Life'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7966470770841575990</id><published>2008-03-09T14:00:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-03-09T14:10:03.512-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Ebony and Ivory</title><content type='html'>Friday.  The day before the big event.  I was so proud of myself.  I had planned out my day perfectly.  I felt so prepared for Bowl for Kids' Sake.  I even left my office at 4:00 to pick up a few last minute raffle items and do a couple of last minute spreadsheet touch-ups at home before making dinner and hanging out with Dave.  Then I locked my keys in my car.  I spent 1 hour and 10 minutes freezing my tooshy off and writing a long, whiny blog post in my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But on my way home I saw a long haired, long trench coated, big cross necklace wearing, dressed in all black, goth guy cruising through Sugarhouse...on WHITE ROLLERBLADES.  And I new the world was right again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-7966470770841575990?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7966470770841575990/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7966470770841575990' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7966470770841575990'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7966470770841575990'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/03/ebony-and-ivory.html' title='Ebony and Ivory'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4762587409230743848</id><published>2008-03-04T19:48:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-03-04T19:53:08.470-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Guess What I Did ALL Day</title><content type='html'>Answered email.  Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, I know.  You were hoping for something more scandalizing.  Or at least a teensy bit interesting.  But I didn't do anything scandalizing or even a teensy bit interesting all day.  I answered email.  From 9:30 a.m. until 5:45 p.m., except for when I was microwaving my lunch, I answered email.  It was coming in as fast as I could get it out.  But at 5:45 I left my office without a single email in my inbox.  Thank god.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Want to place bets on how many new emails I'll have when I get in tomorrow morning?  I'm guessing 18.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4762587409230743848?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4762587409230743848/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4762587409230743848' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4762587409230743848'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4762587409230743848'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/03/guess-what-i-did-all-day.html' title='Guess What I Did ALL Day'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7650412417896022289</id><published>2008-02-25T19:31:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-25T19:47:20.011-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard in the Restroom at Ikea</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;little girl voice coming from the stall next to me&lt;/span&gt;:  Mom, listen...&lt;br /&gt;[&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;singing&lt;/span&gt;]  she hit the floor&lt;br /&gt;next thing you know&lt;br /&gt;shorty got low low low low&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came out of my stall and she came out of hers.  She was this little red-head, maybe around five or six.  I laughed.  I couldn't help it.  Her mom says, "She really loves that song."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In case you're not familiar, she was singing &lt;a href="http://www.mtv.com/overdrive/?id=1518072&amp;amp;vid=188796"&gt;'Low' by Flo Rida&lt;/a&gt;.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-7650412417896022289?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7650412417896022289/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7650412417896022289' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7650412417896022289'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7650412417896022289'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/02/overheard-in-restroom-at-ikea.html' title='Overheard in the Restroom at Ikea'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4835850801446544549</id><published>2008-02-17T21:22:00.002-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-17T21:27:47.321-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Studs-R-Us</title><content type='html'>My phone didn't say I missed a call.  There are no random numbers in my caller i.d.  But I just got this voicemail:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span id="1fi1"&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;This is Arlo of the studmuffin delivery service.  We had a narrow window to deliver your studmuffin to L Street, and we can't find it.  Can you call us back and give us directions?&lt;/blockquote&gt;I'm sorry.  What?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4835850801446544549?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4835850801446544549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4835850801446544549' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4835850801446544549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4835850801446544549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/02/studs-r-us.html' title='Studs-R-Us'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1900404646348925970</id><published>2008-02-14T10:15:00.004-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-14T10:29:13.769-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Happiest Valentine</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/R7R5qvrA8MI/AAAAAAAAADg/ZYsZ5OZh1OI/s1600-h/bamboo+cropped.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/R7R5qvrA8MI/AAAAAAAAADg/ZYsZ5OZh1OI/s200/bamboo+cropped.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5166888447759151298" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The UPS man just came into my office and said, "Looks like someone got flowers."  Then he tried to tell me they were for me.  Yeah, right.  The only time I &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;ever &lt;/span&gt;got flowers was when my dad was out of town for my 12th birthday and sent a dozen roses.  But alas...the box was addressed to me. On the outside of the box was a note that made me thankful I hadn't put my mascara on yet.  It took three of us, "awww"ing and "oh my god"ing to get this out of the box:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you, Dave!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1900404646348925970?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1900404646348925970/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1900404646348925970' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1900404646348925970'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1900404646348925970'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/02/happiest-valentine.html' title='Happiest Valentine'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/R7R5qvrA8MI/AAAAAAAAADg/ZYsZ5OZh1OI/s72-c/bamboo+cropped.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5476398424759645987</id><published>2008-02-05T11:32:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-02-10T21:17:08.172-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Master Cleanse</title><content type='html'>&lt;div&gt;Dave mentioned that he wanted to check out the 10-day Master Cleanse. After trying on practically every pair of pants in my closet and having none of them button successfully, or at least comfortably, I thought, "maybe he's on to something." So I agreed to try it with him. Here's why I wish I hadn't...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Day 1&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;I hardly slept last night because I was sooo nervous about living on lemonade and sea water.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm ravenous, and craving things I hardly ever eat. Spaghetti and meatballs from Fiddlers Elbow? Chicken noodle soup?? Creole pork chops with red beans and rice???&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I have the worst splitting headache of all time.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;Dave said, "So far not even one hunger pang!" Bastard.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Day 2&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;The headache is still splitting.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm still hungry. And &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;dying &lt;/span&gt;for Cafe Rio.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;My mouth tastes disgusting.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm a raging bitch and want to kill everyone in my path. Dave, meanwhile, as far as I can tell, is skipping through a field of flowers. Bastard. ( Just so you all know, I might call Dave a bastard several times over the next 8 days, but he's really really not. And I really really like him. A lot.) &lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;I'm perpetually on the verge of tears. For example, my eyes welled up when I saw a McDonald's bag on the sidewalk outside of Skyline High School. My route back to work from Skyline takes me past Dave's work, and I started crying because its been five hours since he's texted me and I'm afraid that in an effort to be a supportive girlfriend and do this cleanse with him, I've actually turned into such a negative whiny brat that he hates me. Then I decided I should probably tell my office mate what I'm doing, since I'm being such a bitch today, and explaining it to her got me all teary in kind of a mad way, and I had to go hide in the bathroom for a few minutes.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Day 3 ~ &lt;/span&gt;OK. Maybe this cleanse thing isn't so bad. Dave came over last night so we could enjoy our last glass of lemonade for the day and our bedtime herbal laxative tea (you heard me) together. He spent an entire episode of "House" massaging my head, sweet thing that he is (but don't tell him I said that...he likes to think he's an asshole). This morning I don't feel nearly as hungry, and my head only hurts in waves and not nearly as much. And I lost four pounds. BUT, I did have to use all of my restraints to not pull into the 7-11 and get a cup of coffee. I want a warm cup of cozy coffee SO bad!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;[Later in the day I did have an emotional breakdown, but that was more because my job sucks ass than because the cleanse sucks ass. Note To Self: No matter how confident you are that you can leave work at 4:00, be sure to have enough lemonade to carry you through until 6:00.]&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Day 4&lt;/span&gt; ~ My knees feel swollen and throbby. Is that a detox symptom?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Day 5&lt;/span&gt; ~ I felt fine all day.  Seriously.  Weird, right?  And then this conversation happened...&lt;/div&gt;&lt;em&gt;stupid coworker:&lt;/em&gt;  Hey Jess, are you still doing that crazy lemonade diet thing?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;boss:&lt;/em&gt;  WHAT is she doing to herself???&lt;/div&gt;&lt;em&gt;stupid coworker:&lt;/em&gt;  She's starving herself for 10 days.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;em&gt;boss, to me:&lt;/em&gt;  You are???  Do you think that could make you cranky?&lt;/div&gt;Not anymore than five bowling events and a gala.  Or that question.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Day 6&lt;/strong&gt; ~ Fine.  Mercy.  I give.  I want to chew on something in the worst way.  I'm bored of quote unquote, lemonade. I think the acid from the lemons and the cayene pepper are burning a hole in my esaphagous. I'm caving and drinking orange juice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Day 7&lt;/span&gt; ~ I have what I can only assume will be the best vegetable soup EVER simmering on the stove right now!!  I can't wait to try it!  Tomorrow I can have a salad for dinner.  And I'll be back on regular foods Tuesday.  Only nine pounds lighter.  Ahh...its over.  And I don't even feel bad about cutting it short.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5476398424759645987?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5476398424759645987/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5476398424759645987' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5476398424759645987'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5476398424759645987'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/02/master-cleanse.html' title='The Master Cleanse'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-6799971517152264606</id><published>2008-01-28T14:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-28T15:06:10.355-07:00</updated><title type='text'>An Apology to My Fans</title><content type='html'>Dear Readers,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know.  I know.  Chances are high you've already given up on me.  And I apologize.  This is the time of year for me when hours blur into days blur into weeks blur into months, and before you know what happened, its May.  Also known as Event Season.  Just to give you an idea, these are the events I'm currently planning:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;li&gt;March 1:  Bowl for Kids' Sake Corporate Bowls (we've increased from one 2-hour session to four.  FOUR!)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;March 8:  Bowl for Kids' Sake Community Day (this would be a fantastic day to see me - register online at bbbsu.kintera.org/bfks2008)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;March 15 (I think - its a long story and I don't want to talk about it):  Heber City Bowl for Kids' Sake&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;March 29:  Saint George Bowl for Kids' Sake (if Shrimpie* is born while I'm in Saint George, I'm going to have an emotional breakdown that my coworkers will not be happy about.)&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;April 12:  Ogden Bowl for Kids' Sake&lt;/li&gt;&lt;li&gt;May 15:  Chef &amp;amp; A Child: A Night of Excellence gala and auction&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;And I'm going to do my damnedest to successfully fill in the cracks with a Dave, a Mary Kay business, and the training for a half marathon I want to run on April 19.  Which doesn't leave a lot of time left over for blogging.  Or sanity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll let you know how it all goes sometime towards the end of May.  At that time, I will also plan to read your blog so I can figure out what you've been up to for the last five months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll miss you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;Jessica&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;*Shrimpie is my un-born nephew who will actually be named Miles Jay.  I am &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;dying &lt;/span&gt;to meet him!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-6799971517152264606?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/6799971517152264606/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=6799971517152264606' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6799971517152264606'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/6799971517152264606'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/01/apology-to-my-fans.html' title='An Apology to My Fans'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4112161087530855561</id><published>2008-01-12T11:16:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-12T11:49:30.547-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Favorite Memory From Jam Cruise 6</title><content type='html'>We just got home from a grueling day of laying on the beach on Roatan Island, Honduras.  And by "home" I mean, cabin 8123 on the Paganini Deck.  We all were dying to shower, but our cleaning lady didn't leave us any towels.  Dayna opened the door to see if anyone who could help us was in the hallway.  They weren't.  But Ivan Neville was.  He poked his head into our door and said, "Hey ladies, what are you all doing?"  I said, "Hi Ivan!  We're just relaxing."  Dayna told him our woes of the missing towels.  He asked us if we thought the beach was as amazing as he did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly, Sean Powers popped out of the bathroom.  Ivan was caught off guard - he didn't realize there was a dude in our cabin.  Sean said, "Hi man, I'm Sean."  Ivan said, "I'm Ivan," and excused himself to head up to the pool deck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dayna closed the door.  She, Rana, and I started freaking out.  "Oh my god!  &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Ivan Neville&lt;/span&gt; stopped by to chat!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sean said, "That was Ivan &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Neville&lt;/span&gt;?  And &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;that's &lt;/span&gt;how I talked to him?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few minutes later, we all went up to the pool deck, and there was Ivan Neville sitting in with Toots &amp;amp; the Maytals.  Man I love the Jam Cruise.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4112161087530855561?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4112161087530855561/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4112161087530855561' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4112161087530855561'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4112161087530855561'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2008/01/my-favorite-memory-from-jam-cruise-6.html' title='My Favorite Memory From Jam Cruise 6'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7220716926258672583</id><published>2007-12-26T14:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-26T14:05:45.291-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard at the Christmas Eve Dinner Table</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;mommy weber:&lt;/span&gt;  My goal is to gain as much weight as possible before the New Year because heavier people lose weight faster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;mommy lisa:&lt;/span&gt;  Are you going to go back to weight watchers?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;mommy weber:&lt;/span&gt;  No.  I don't like their attitude.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-7220716926258672583?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7220716926258672583/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7220716926258672583' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7220716926258672583'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7220716926258672583'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/12/overheard-at-christmas-eve-dinner-table.html' title='Overheard at the Christmas Eve Dinner Table'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-2092387760265428909</id><published>2007-12-22T19:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-22T19:52:59.738-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Overheard at ShopKo</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;punk-rocker mom:&lt;/span&gt;  Honey, if you can't be good, I'm going to make you listen to Toby Keith's Christmas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;3-ish-year-old boy:&lt;/span&gt;  I don't want to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;punk-rocker mom:  &lt;/span&gt;I know, honey.  Nobody wants to.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-2092387760265428909?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/2092387760265428909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=2092387760265428909' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2092387760265428909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2092387760265428909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/12/overheard-at-shopko.html' title='Overheard at ShopKo'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-9075303704064247506</id><published>2007-12-21T10:03:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-21T10:12:25.814-07:00</updated><title type='text'>No Possible Weigh</title><content type='html'>I visited my doctor on the way to work this morning.  It was very very snowy, and as a result the nurse was not in quite yet.  So my doctor asked the receptionist lady to weigh me and show me to my room.  I stepped on the scale and up popped a number I do not wish to disclose.  I looked at the receptionist lady who was just standing there staring at the readout.  I was wondering if she was going to write it down or if I should just step off the scale when she finally said, with as much disbelief as a girl can have in her voice, "I don't think that's right." &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started laughing and said, "That's very sweet of you, but that number is indeed accurate."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;With the sound of disbelief and the look of shock not going anywhere, she said, "I can't believe that.  I would never have guessed that.  I wouldn't make a very good nurse."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I assured her that she makes the best nurse ever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-9075303704064247506?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/9075303704064247506/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=9075303704064247506' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/9075303704064247506'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/9075303704064247506'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/12/no-possible-weigh.html' title='No Possible Weigh'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-2409894373315943364</id><published>2007-12-19T09:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-19T09:16:09.194-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dream About the Nap</title><content type='html'>The other day I was napping and dreamt about my nap. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In real life and in my dream, I was tired and watching tv, as I often am on a Sunday.  I had plans with my friend Dave that evening, and knew I needed to call him to figure out what we would be doing, but it was only 12:20 and I figured I'd be a better conversationalist post-my nap, which I anticipated lasting about an hour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In my dream, I woke up and realized it was getting dark-ish outside.  I checked the time - 5:30.  Shit!  I felt like a jerk for not calling Dave sooner, and felt surprised that he hadn't called me either.  So I called, and he told me that he had actually decided to go shopping instead, and we weren't going to be hanging out.  Fine then.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This all felt very real.  Until my phone woke me up, and I realized that in real life it was only 1:00 and sunny.  It was Dave calling to offer up dinner and a movie, not to ditch me.  Phew.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.  We saw &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;No Country For Old Men&lt;/span&gt;, and I'm sorry to everyone who thinks its the best movie ever of all time...I didn't like it.  It weirded me out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-2409894373315943364?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/2409894373315943364/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=2409894373315943364' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2409894373315943364'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2409894373315943364'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/12/dream-about-nap.html' title='The Dream About the Nap'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-8918999310600959472</id><published>2007-12-14T09:58:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-14T10:21:49.971-07:00</updated><title type='text'>What Are You Implying, Google?</title><content type='html'>Tonight is girls night, sweatpants required.  The girls and I have been emailing back and forth about it for a little while now.  This morning I opened the chain of emails, and along with it came the following Google Sponsored Links on my sidebar:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;Find a Rich Guy Today&lt;br /&gt;Rude Offensive T Shirts&lt;br /&gt;Fabulous Girls Underwear&lt;/blockquote&gt;Talk about creepster dot com.  How does Google know that we're rude, offensive gold diggers in fabulous underwear?  Is Google stalking us?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-8918999310600959472?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/8918999310600959472/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=8918999310600959472' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8918999310600959472'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8918999310600959472'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/12/what-are-you-implying-google.html' title='What Are You Implying, Google?'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-5527929530470010795</id><published>2007-12-14T08:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-14T08:57:07.437-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Start / Bad Start</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Good Start&lt;/span&gt;:  A handsome Latino man with a sexy accent was leaving Starbucks at the same time as me and said, "You look very nice with your glasses."  Heck yes I do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-weight: bold;"&gt;Bad Start:&lt;/span&gt;  I was thinking about the Latino man instead of paying attention to the car in front of me.  Which was stopped.  In the middle of the road.  For no apparent reason.  Don't worry - the road was not slippery and I slowed down quickly enough to not hit them.  I did have to navigate a snowbank to get around them though.  And my heart was racing faster than I wanted it to.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-5527929530470010795?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/5527929530470010795/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=5527929530470010795' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5527929530470010795'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/5527929530470010795'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/12/good-start-bad-start.html' title='Good Start / Bad Start'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-7277375144145874105</id><published>2007-12-12T11:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-12T11:31:00.165-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Early Bird Special</title><content type='html'>We've discussed &lt;a href="http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/08/again-with-snoozing.html"&gt;my snoozing problem&lt;/a&gt;.  A couple of times.  I'm not good at mornings.  Obviously.  So when Hannah said, "We're meeting at Ruth's at 7:45 on Wednesday for breakfast.  Do you want to come?"  I thought, "You must be kidding.  You want me to get up early?  And meet you somewhere at 7:45?  A.M.?  And you're not going to pay me for it?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As it turns out, it wasn't so bad.  In fact, it was fun.  From 8:00-9:00 a.m., Ruth's will feed you a biscuit, eggs, bacon, sausage, hash browns, &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;and &lt;/span&gt;pancakes...all for the low cost of $4.97.  You get to drink coffee and chat with girlfriends.  And you get to go to work in a jovial mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Same time next week, ladies?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-7277375144145874105?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/7277375144145874105/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=7277375144145874105' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7277375144145874105'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/7277375144145874105'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/12/early-bird-special.html' title='Early Bird Special'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-9207564966282637102</id><published>2007-12-03T08:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-03T09:20:39.548-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Observations From the Weekend</title><content type='html'>1.  Although they are a dangerous combination, it is possible to fall in love with high heels and snow in the same year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.  It is really great to have girlfriends who get together on a Friday night to share a pizza and four bottles of wine while chatting straight through three movies in a row.  In sweatpants.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3.  Boys who are only willing to communicate with you through text messaging are dirtbags.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4.  I need to convince one Heather Badger Plummer to move herself and her cute family to The SLC.  She always manages to tell the funniest stories when you're in the worst mood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.  When you need someone to crash the pity party you're throwing for yourself, call &lt;a href="http://sarahbellumsn.blogspot.com/"&gt;Sarah&lt;/a&gt;.  She knows which coffee shops serve both cupcakes AND beer.  On top of that, if the opportunity presents itself, she might bring you homemade pumpkin beer*.&lt;br /&gt;*Sarah, I can't remember who you said made the beer, but I would appreciate it if you could please let them know that it is not only the best homemade beer I've ever tried, but also the best pumpkin beer I've ever tried.  And I've tried a lot of pumpkin beers.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6.  Burlesque shows in Utah, while offering the promise of coolness, are not quite as cool as I was hoping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7.  Friends from the states in the middle that start with "M" have the best accents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8.  The dollar store on 800 East and 200 South looks really small from the outside, but fear not - it has the same amount of junk on the inside as other dollar stores.  Only in a more claustrophobic fashion.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9.  When someone takes your wet, clean clothes out of a washer you are clearly still using, as indicated by the bag of dry, dirty clothes sitting right next to said washer, it provides the motivation to stop &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;saying &lt;/span&gt;you're saving for your own washer/dryer and actually start saving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10.  Unshoveled sidewalks add a new element of adventure to running.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11.  I really enjoy cooking for myself, and need to get back into the habit of doing it.  Who else is going to make creole pork chops with red beans and rice and then put the leftovers into tupperware containers and freeze them for my lunches?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12.  It is an incredible boost when an adorable, charming, funny 25-ish-year-old boy thinks you're only 22.  And means it.  Even if he's very drunk.  And married.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-9207564966282637102?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/9207564966282637102/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=9207564966282637102' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/9207564966282637102'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/9207564966282637102'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/12/observations-from-weekend.html' title='Observations From the Weekend'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-2213756881437420104</id><published>2007-11-27T15:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-27T15:17:38.555-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dream About the Refrigerator</title><content type='html'>I just remembered that I had another dream I remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I dreamt that I was in my little kitchen, scrounging for something to eat.  I opened my fridge and to my horror (joy?  no!  horror!) it was full of things like cheesecake and yogurt-covered pretzels and chocolate grahams and other such holiday treats.  I couldn't find &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;anything &lt;/span&gt;healthy in there and my tummy was hurting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just to clarify, my refrigerator is actually full of Gatorade and Bud Light and various salad dressings, but nothing to put said dressings on.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-2213756881437420104?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/2213756881437420104/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=2213756881437420104' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2213756881437420104'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2213756881437420104'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/11/dream-about-refrigerator.html' title='The Dream About the Refrigerator'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-2264384253076852662</id><published>2007-11-19T10:11:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-19T10:48:15.671-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Polar Ice Caps Are Melting</title><content type='html'>Dear Al Gore,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I understand that global warming is a serious problem, and that rising sea levels can have serious repercussions, but I am a little bit in love with this weather.  Please don't be mad.  I mean, Al, yesterday was November 18 and I had all of the windows in my house open all day freshening the place up.  I went for a walk with John, and worked up a sweat.  I wore flip flops...&lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;outside&lt;/span&gt;.  It was glorious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If it makes you feel better, I do love the compact fluorescent light bulbs in my kitchen, and hope to find some that dim for my dining room fixture.  In fact, maybe you could talk to the Home Depot about carrying those sorts of things.  I've mentioned it, but I don't think I have as much pull as you do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sincerely,&lt;br /&gt;Jessica&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-2264384253076852662?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/2264384253076852662/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=2264384253076852662' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2264384253076852662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2264384253076852662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/11/polar-ice-caps-are-melting.html' title='The Polar Ice Caps Are Melting'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-2150621408555193599</id><published>2007-11-16T10:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-16T11:02:52.661-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Have a Crush on DJ Sam Smith</title><content type='html'>Marissa and I are F.U.N.K. Radio listeners every Friday on KRCL 90.9.  Today I decided I needed a request fulfilled, so I sent this uber-dorky email to Sam:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;blockquote&gt;    Dear D.J. Sam,&lt;br /&gt;Could you please play Frankie Smith's Double Dutch Bus?  The Sugar Hill Gang is making me     crave it for some reason...&lt;br /&gt;Thanks!&lt;br /&gt;A Faithful Fan,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="sg"&gt;    Jessica&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;&lt;span class="sg"&gt;And he's playing it NOW!  Oh.  Wow.  Sam.  Thank you!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span class="sg"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-2150621408555193599?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/2150621408555193599/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=2150621408555193599' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2150621408555193599'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/2150621408555193599'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/11/i-have-crush-on-dj-sam-smith.html' title='I Have a Crush on DJ Sam Smith'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-1794134997431634843</id><published>2007-11-16T09:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-16T09:06:30.160-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Dunkin' Donuts Love</title><content type='html'>Dear Sarah,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wanted to let you know that I decided to drop the extra $2 to try the Dunkin' Donuts Cinnamon Spice Coffee and...  Oh. My. God.  Its like $20 yummier than any of the Folders Gourmet flavors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks for letting me know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love,&lt;br /&gt;Jess&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;P.S.  I bought it at the Smith's near my house.  But I understand if you keep using Dunkin' Donuts Coffee unavailability in the downtown area as an excuse to drive all the way to Target to do your grocery shopping.  Target has way better shoes and bags than any of the downtown grocery stores.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-1794134997431634843?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/1794134997431634843/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=1794134997431634843' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1794134997431634843'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/1794134997431634843'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/11/dunkin-donuts-love.html' title='Dunkin&apos; Donuts Love'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-3056000955460009648</id><published>2007-11-14T09:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-14T09:21:38.398-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Oh Man</title><content type='html'>You know when you're getting ready for work and then you realize that you don't have any coffee OR milk and you get bummed out so you sit on the couch and all of the sudden it's 30 minutes later and you have to go to work with your hair looking like ass?  That happened to me today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Do you say, "all of the sudden," or, "all of a sudden."  I'm never sure on that one.)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(I really need to start blogging again.  I miss it.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-3056000955460009648?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/3056000955460009648/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=3056000955460009648' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3056000955460009648'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/3056000955460009648'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/11/oh-man.html' title='Oh Man'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-8487978133751873547</id><published>2007-10-29T14:54:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-29T16:30:21.243-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Dream About the Tornado</title><content type='html'>My college roommate Melanie and I used to keep dream journals.  I used to wake up and write at least a little snippet every day.  Nowadays, I never remember my dreams.  Unless I'm just not having them anymore.  But last night I had a dream that seemed very real and caused me to become wide awake for about 15 minutes at around 3:00 a.m.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was daytime.  I was home in my condo with someone, although I'm not sure who.  It was really stormy outside and every single tv channel had interrupted regular broadcasting to follow the tornado that was traveling all the way through Utah, from north to south.  The tv showed a map of Utah with a graphic of the tornado whirling in its current location, while voices were frantically reporting on the progress and damage.  The tornado finally got to the Salt Lake part of the map, so my companion and I looked out of my north-facing window, and sure enough, there it was.  It wasn't as wide as I expected it to be, but it was spinning fast and looked really scary.  It rushed right past my building, and then everything got really calm.  My companion and I went onto my deck to check out the complex.  Other people were outside, too, but everyone was quiet and somber.  The sky was still very dark, but the trees were eerily still.  The building to the south of me was hit, and there was a hole in the wall of the ground floor unit and the third floor unit.  Through the hole of the third floor unit we could see an upright bass and some other instruments that were now all wet and ruined.  A blond-haired, dread-locked guy came out looking completely devastated, carrying another upright bass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You may or may not (but most likely may, if you've met me) know that I am absolutely terrified of earthquakes.  So in my 3:00 a.m. post-dream-ness, I started panicking that my tornado dream was just a premonition that we were about to suffer from a more-likely-in-Utah natural disaster.  I was finally able to go back to sleep when I remembered that I'd been watching "Storm Chasers" on Discovery Channel yesterday, and that's likely what prompted the dream. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I better add "Storm Chasers" to the list of too-scary-for-me-to-watch-alone shows, and stick with things like "Desperate Housewives" and "Sex in the City."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-8487978133751873547?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/8487978133751873547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=8487978133751873547' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8487978133751873547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/8487978133751873547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/10/dream-about-tornado.html' title='The Dream About the Tornado'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8584959343543660239.post-4752921967337147065</id><published>2007-10-23T11:31:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-10-23T13:15:58.509-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I Ran a Half Marathon!!</title><content type='html'>My first big race was on Sunday and still I... A) can't believe I did it and felt great and smiled the whole time!  B) am totally on runner's high!  I ran the Other Half in Moab with Dad, Lisa, Sara, Cristin, and Alli.  Here we are  at the start, all smiles, albeit a titch nervous...  (Well, maybe not Lisa. A 13 mile run is a walk in the park for a woman who does Iron Mans.)&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2062/1712133211_c7c07e09ae.jpg?v=0"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2062/1712133211_c7c07e09ae.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I should clarify that by "ran with," I mean, "ran behind."  I was the last one of our group over the finish line at 2 hours 55 minutes, but...eh...I accomplished what I set out to do, which was run every step of 13.1 miles, and hopefully have some fun doing it.  The course was beautiful, the weather was perfect, and having always loved the energy at a race, I can now say for certain its even better when you're one of the participants!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll admit, I got really scared when I got to my first hill, but after stopping super quick for a photo, I told myself, "Jessica, you're more than halfway done, you still feel amazing, and you can totally do this!"&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2371/1712995336_ae2720973f.jpg?v=0"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2371/1712995336_ae2720973f.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;So I did.  I ran up this hill (that's mile marker 7 halfway up) and passed four other runners in the process.  And I ran up every hill that came after it.  I even giggled when I got to the top of the hill at mile 8 and heard some girls asking the gatorade guy, "That was the worst part, right?" Come on girls, this run is cake!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was greeted by some drummers at mile 11-ish and was so excited!  At that point I'd run further than I've run EVER, the sun was shining, I only had two more easy, downhill miles to go, and I could see the ranch where the finish line and free beer were waiting for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2149/1712147893_195d5033f5.jpg?v=0"&gt;&lt;img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 200px;" src="http://farm3.static.flickr.com/2149/1712147893_195d5033f5.jpg?v=0" alt="" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;I was greeted at the finish line by the aforementioned friends who ran "with" me and helped me accomplish this HUGE goal in the first place, a cute and teary-eyed ever so proud Mommy, and a jumping and screaming self-described athletic supporter, Travis.  I could NOT believe how great I felt!  Sure, I was hobbling.  But I was also laughing and smiling and drinking free beer to celebrate that fact that I RAN A HALF MARATHON!!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thanks SO SO much Dad and Mommy Lisa and Poloni Sandwich and Nurse Kimball and Alli Tanner.  I'm so proud of all of us, and would NEVER have done this without you!  Let's do it again!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8584959343543660239-4752921967337147065?l=knickyb.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/feeds/4752921967337147065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8584959343543660239&amp;postID=4752921967337147065' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4752921967337147065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8584959343543660239/posts/default/4752921967337147065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://knickyb.blogspot.com/2007/10/i-ran-half-marathon.html' title='I Ran a Half Marathon!!'/><author><name>Jessica K.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/08589484563181878388</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='22' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_sezK1fEcVuo/SOrZ0NmU1wI/AAAAAAAAAJA/GcmBA8Iwe2U/s1600-R/2366507010_9d723bb1e5.jpg%3Fv%3D0'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry></feed>
