<?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-1799640875705744739</id><updated>2011-04-21T12:12:20.188-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Blathering Fool</title><subtitle type='html'>Because I have become too lazy to write in a journal but every once in a while have something I want to say.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Brenda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14704961258057109411</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>6</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1799640875705744739.post-4759400375849658662</id><published>2008-11-10T19:13:00.016-07:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T19:40:31.560-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Once</title><content type='html'>Once upon a time, exactly one year ago, Brant asked me to marry him. It was among the happiest moments of my life. Over this year my love has only grown stronger (which I was not sure was even possible). Happy "engagement day," monkey. You make my world so much more fulfilling. Here are some of my best memories from the past year with you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjrQMTxLuI/AAAAAAAAAC8/-7Fry_CXt4E/s1600-h/PB160416.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267218427624369890" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjrQMTxLuI/AAAAAAAAAC8/-7Fry_CXt4E/s200/PB160416.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjrlaoGjsI/AAAAAAAAADE/ddl0WUtBTCs/s1600-h/P5030693.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjsQjtIQBI/AAAAAAAAADM/abABCcGblW0/s1600-h/0087.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267219533416382482" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjsQjtIQBI/AAAAAAAAADM/abABCcGblW0/s200/0087.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjs6C88H5I/AAAAAAAAADU/znw0os2sA68/s1600-h/P7190854.JPG"&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjuu1nqLLI/AAAAAAAAAD0/ETMWVUB1L-k/s1600-h/P8310895.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267222252644609202" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjuu1nqLLI/AAAAAAAAAD0/ETMWVUB1L-k/s200/P8310895.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjuOhKGAZI/AAAAAAAAADs/-kM5paKKoQk/s1600-h/P8080865.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267221697396081042" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 150px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjuOhKGAZI/AAAAAAAAADs/-kM5paKKoQk/s200/P8080865.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjtRWm36ZI/AAAAAAAAADc/B1WflBRb1VQ/s1600-h/IMG_0065.JPG"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267220646591981970" style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjtRWm36ZI/AAAAAAAAADc/B1WflBRb1VQ/s200/IMG_0065.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5267221309504200866" style="WIDTH: 150px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 200px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjt38JdoKI/AAAAAAAAADk/Ul7b5io5CeI/s200/P2020455.JPG" border="0" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1799640875705744739-4759400375849658662?l=brendasblather.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/feeds/4759400375849658662/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1799640875705744739&amp;postID=4759400375849658662&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/4759400375849658662'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/4759400375849658662'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/2008/11/once.html' title='Once'/><author><name>Brenda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14704961258057109411</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/SRjrQMTxLuI/AAAAAAAAAC8/-7Fry_CXt4E/s72-c/PB160416.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1799640875705744739.post-7132577717766394757</id><published>2008-01-17T20:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2008-01-17T20:37:24.786-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Alley Anger</title><content type='html'>On Tuesday night at about 11:00pm, I put my book down and turned off the light to go to sleep. It was at that point that I heard someone going through the dumpster outside our bedroom windows in the alley behind our condo. This is not an unusual occurrence. We live in down town Denver and our alley is frequented by homeless people looking for things to eat, sell, wear or otherwise use. In this case, the man (I am presuming he was male) was looking for aluminum cans to get the deposit on them. I know this because I could hear him ripping open and rifling through every bag with an intermittent "plink" on to the pavement when he came across one. Normally, this would not bother me- I tend to be sympathetic to the homeless and have been known to cry when seeing a person eating the ketchup out of packets from the dumpster. However, it really pissed me off for some reason. Actually, I discovered as I thought about it that it was for a lot of reasons (I had a while to think because he was in there forever). Here is a brief list:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;It was 11pm. I am of the opinion that 10pm is the cutoff for outside noise on a weekday. Dumpster dive between the hours of 7am and 10pm, please.&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;The walls of our condo are so fucking thin that I could hear him like I was standing next to him- seriously, who built this place?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Why are there no locks on our dumpsters?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Why do I want locks on the dumpsters? Shouldn't the homeless at least have a chance to rummage through what the "homed" consider waste?&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Why are there aluminum cans in the trash? A homeless man should NEVER find a can in any dumpster or trash can- RECYCLE, people!&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Why was I getting so irate? I was in a nice, warm bed with the heat on trying to sleep while another human being was out in the cold, probably under dressed with no where to sleep. &lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;I am not lacking on sleep- waiting the extra 30 minutes to fall asleep was not going to kill me but I was furious&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;Why do I have to work? Maybe I should be homeless- is it really that bad? I could even pay off most things and keep my car and camping stuff and just roam around with Brant all the time. Why does this guy not have to worry about getting sleep to go to work in the morning. I was actually momentarily jealous&lt;/li&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;li&gt;All of these conflicted feelings were making me feel selfish and greedy and bad about myself&lt;/li&gt;&lt;/ul&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;In the end, I let the greedy, selfish Brenda loose for a minute and yelled at the top of my lungs, "MOVE ON, ALREADY. SOME OF US HAVE JOBS AND HAVE TO WORK TOMORROW!!!" He may have been to absorbed with his quest for value in the dumpster to hear me, but if the noise travels out the same way it travels in, he probably did. I felt a guilty pleasure in doing it. I felt justified in being pissed and at the same time slimy for not being sensitive to the plight of another human being. I was actually expecting to find trash lined up against the garage or some other form of retaliation, but I didn't. Finally, I rolled over and got the ear plugs out of the drawer and put them in. If I would have just done that in the first place I could have saved 30 minutes of sleep and some precious sanity.&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p&gt;&lt;/p&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5156655442512562514" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/R5AezcgLyVI/AAAAAAAAACI/RB8U0fccSGU/s320/we-all-have-cunty-days.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1799640875705744739-7132577717766394757?l=brendasblather.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/feeds/7132577717766394757/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1799640875705744739&amp;postID=7132577717766394757&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/7132577717766394757'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/7132577717766394757'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/2008/01/alley-anger.html' title='Alley Anger'/><author><name>Brenda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14704961258057109411</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/R5AezcgLyVI/AAAAAAAAACI/RB8U0fccSGU/s72-c/we-all-have-cunty-days.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1799640875705744739.post-6646213504189791512</id><published>2007-12-06T21:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-12-06T21:32:15.105-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Old Skool</title><content type='html'>Ok- This post is from two years ago at my previous blog on Friendster, but I thought the timing was appropriate to reintroduce it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;=================================&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, it's the holidays. Everyone is in a mad rush to spend, spend, spend without regard for their own financial well-being, and most of the time without much thought for the person they are buying for.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am beginning to believe that Christmas stinks. Here is why. A lot of people just buy to buy. How many lame presents can you think of that you've received in your life? DISCLAIMER- Luckily this year I only bought and received from the people closest to me, so that was not the case. But most of the time, people just buy out of obligation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Tonya got this piece of crap ceramic dish with a Santa on it for me, so I'd better go out and get her something equally cheap and tasteless." Who wins in that? Tonya wasn't really buying a cheap ceramic plate with a Santa on it because she thinks you are so wonderful and wants to express her gratitude that you are in her life. No. Tonya bought the plate out of obligation. "Hmmmmm. Who do I have to buy for this year? Well, last year I got a gift from Sally, so I'd better get her something this year."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now Sally will go out and buy something equally crappy for Tonya, feeling obligated to not show up empty handed to receive her Santa plate. Six months later, Good Will ends up with an entire set of cheap Santa plates, and both Sally and Tonya end up paying $30 for the $10 plate because they both put them on their credit cards and the interest eats them alive.&lt;br /&gt;When did Christmas get so out of hand? I don't think that I'll ever go to the extreme of getting nothing for anyone. I like buying nice things for people that I really care about. This Christmas, my family put limits on spending so that we could all feel good about giving, but also keep it in check. But when did it become the holiday where you send cards to everyone under the sun (even people you consciously don't like), feel pressured to buy things for everyone in your entire circle, and lose a year off your life dealing with the stress of traffic, crowded malls and disappointed recipients of Santa plates? That is not what the holiday is about. The only people who win in that are the stockholders of the companies making the crap we are buying.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess what it boils down to is that it's a massive onslaught of consumerism, and I hate consumerism. I hate it that I am a smart girl and still get caught up in consumerism at Christmas. It bothers me to know that my aunt bought my mom a gift card to Outback Steakhouse when I know damn well that she lives off her credit card and is probably an inch away from filing for bankruptcy. It bothers me even more that my mom will send her something in return in order to not feel guilty instead of putting that $50 to better use. It bugs me that I got two Christmas cards without anything but a signature- what's the point? One of them was even from a person who I know for a fact doesn't like me a bit. WHY?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I HATE this time of the year. The only good thing about it is family. And that's what it really should be about. Valuing and spending time with the people you love. I'm glad that I at least have that, even if I do have to deal with the parts that I hate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time to go, though. I am off to the mall to finish a bit more Christmas shopping- I think I missed a co-worker or two and need to look for some Santa plates.........HA!&lt;br /&gt;Look! The tooth fairy is like a credit card company!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.blogger.com/nataliedee.com"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5141083788331712306" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/R1jMd4QH_zI/AAAAAAAAACA/ha9XgpPm-u4/s320/check-into-teeth.jpg" 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/1799640875705744739-6646213504189791512?l=brendasblather.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/feeds/6646213504189791512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1799640875705744739&amp;postID=6646213504189791512&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/6646213504189791512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/6646213504189791512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/2007/12/old-skool.html' title='Old Skool'/><author><name>Brenda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14704961258057109411</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp0.blogger.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/R1jMd4QH_zI/AAAAAAAAACA/ha9XgpPm-u4/s72-c/check-into-teeth.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1799640875705744739.post-8349770103406327082</id><published>2007-11-28T18:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-28T18:23:22.085-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Glue Boogers</title><content type='html'>If you've lived in Colorado for any length of time, you are likely familiar with the glue booger.  The glue booger is a special type of booger that is bred in dry climates.  If you were to travel any distance to the east or west, you'd probably find that the glue booger is really a gooey snot that is best blown out with a tissue, but Colorado air has mutated it into a booger that sticks to everything.  It sticks to your nose hairs first, refusing to blow out with the rest of the gunk. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this point, you have probably decided that picking it out is a better tactic.  You are wrong.  Once it touches your finger it will be a total bitch to get off.  You will think you've wiped it on the tissue only to find it clinging to your hand a few minutes later- sometimes even after a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;vehement&lt;/span&gt; &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;hand washing&lt;/span&gt;.  You may try to flick it off violently into space only to see that now it is stuck to your flicking fingernail instead of the finger it was stuck to.  When it comes to a glue booger, there are really only two ways of dealing with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.) Roll the glue booger between your fingers until either dirt or hand oils have depleted some of the glue and made the booger &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;flickable&lt;/span&gt;.  Be careful of where you are flicking the booger to make sure it doesn't land on any unsuspecting passers-by.  Preferably wash hand after completing this process.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.) If in the car when a glue booger strikes, wipe it on the floor mat.  Car mat material seems to be the only fabric that is capable of temporarily trapping said boogers.  Of course, it may stick to your shoe at some later point, but then it will be out of site and out of mind.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1799640875705744739-8349770103406327082?l=brendasblather.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/feeds/8349770103406327082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1799640875705744739&amp;postID=8349770103406327082&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/8349770103406327082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/8349770103406327082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/2007/11/glue-boogers.html' title='Glue Boogers'/><author><name>Brenda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14704961258057109411</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1799640875705744739.post-7571963751630956778</id><published>2007-11-18T20:40:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-18T20:52:01.385-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Giving Thanks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/R0EHxCQbXgI/AAAAAAAAABU/QThaIJNhGOI/s1600-h/pumpkin-pie.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134393589179833858" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/R0EHxCQbXgI/AAAAAAAAABU/QThaIJNhGOI/s320/pumpkin-pie.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I'm looking forward to the short week.  Work will be chaotic for two weeks just to make up for this one short one, but it is worth it and I am suffering a serious bout of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;lacomotivation&lt;/span&gt;. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Lacomotivation&lt;/span&gt; is a serious illness that can befall the whole office if one is not careful in containing it. Surfing the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;internet&lt;/span&gt; or taking extra days off are the usual the Rx for such an illness, but some people may have an adverse reaction to that treatment and actually get worse symptoms upon returning to work.  I will advise on how my prescribed four day weekend impacts my symptoms in future weeks.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;p align="left"&gt; &lt;/p&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1799640875705744739-7571963751630956778?l=brendasblather.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/feeds/7571963751630956778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1799640875705744739&amp;postID=7571963751630956778&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/7571963751630956778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/7571963751630956778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/2007/11/giving-thanks.html' title='Giving Thanks'/><author><name>Brenda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14704961258057109411</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/R0EHxCQbXgI/AAAAAAAAABU/QThaIJNhGOI/s72-c/pumpkin-pie.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1799640875705744739.post-8619504071654408635</id><published>2007-11-15T21:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2007-11-15T21:34:09.182-07:00</updated><title type='text'>An Inspiration</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/Rz0c8CQbXbI/AAAAAAAAAAg/Kd0T82S5EDA/s1600-h/come-on-do-you-think-we-are-giving-out-kisses-for-free-around-here.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5133290967995735474" style="FLOAT: right; MARGIN: 0px 0px 10px 10px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/Rz0c8CQbXbI/AAAAAAAAAAg/Kd0T82S5EDA/s320/come-on-do-you-think-we-are-giving-out-kisses-for-free-around-here.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started looking at &lt;a href="http://www.nataliedee.com/"&gt;Natalie Dee's &lt;/a&gt;daily posting again. I love that girl's sense of humor. It inspired me to start blathering online again. Blogging is the 2000's version of keeping a journal. I have exciting news in my life that I am sure I'll want to blather about- I am engaged :) Also, I went to dinner with Shelly tonight and god do I love that girl. I am lucky she's my friend.  Going to wake up the beau now.  Or should I say "fiancee."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1799640875705744739-8619504071654408635?l=brendasblather.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/feeds/8619504071654408635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=1799640875705744739&amp;postID=8619504071654408635&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/8619504071654408635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/1799640875705744739/posts/default/8619504071654408635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://brendasblather.blogspot.com/2007/11/inspiration.html' title='An Inspiration'/><author><name>Brenda</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14704961258057109411</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://bp2.blogger.com/_3QuuXEjLV3Y/Rz0c8CQbXbI/AAAAAAAAAAg/Kd0T82S5EDA/s72-c/come-on-do-you-think-we-are-giving-out-kisses-for-free-around-here.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry></feed>
