<?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-6901151</id><updated>2012-02-10T20:56:13.810-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Shaken Not Stirred</title><subtitle type='html'>Anything and Everything</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>550</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8501805321909509870</id><published>2012-01-18T19:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2012-01-18T19:43:59.009-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Still A Good Year</title><content type='html'>So far, so good. This year has been chugging along and I'm riding with it. Nothing new to report. Nothing old cropping up. I've kept the resolutions that I have made for myself. I did not set out to make them, but once we rolled into 2012, I took a look at myself and my life and decided that there were a few things that could change. I'm not going to rigidly hold myself to these self promises, but I won't allow myself to become too laxed with them either.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How are you guys doing?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8501805321909509870?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8501805321909509870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8501805321909509870' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8501805321909509870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8501805321909509870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2012/01/still-good-year.html' title='Still A Good Year'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-843240331227719387</id><published>2011-12-30T13:54:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2011-12-30T13:55:37.545-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy New Year</title><content type='html'>I always feel somewhat regretful about this time of year. I have regret for the things I did not accomplish and regret for the things I didn't do or say.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yet, I also feel hopeful. A new year, to complete some of those left over goals and to start new ones. Plus I have a whole new year to put things off..&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy New Year everyone!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-843240331227719387?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/843240331227719387/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=843240331227719387' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/843240331227719387'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/843240331227719387'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/12/happy-new-year.html' title='Happy New Year'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6044334602718324995</id><published>2011-11-20T09:41:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-20T09:44:54.816-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Rip Van Winkle</title><content type='html'>Did you ever wake up and think it was a day later?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I woke up--sat bolt up in bed (like in the movies, when you see the character sit straight up) and thought, "crap, I am late for work--it's gonna be one of those showerless days". When I grabbed my phone to look at the time and temperature, I then realized it was only Sunday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've done this several days this week. During the week, it was waking up at around 4 a.m. thinking it was 8 a.m. and that I should have already been gone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing new going on. Nothing expectant suppose to happen. Wondering what's going on in subconsciously that makes me feel like I'm late.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6044334602718324995?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6044334602718324995/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6044334602718324995' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6044334602718324995'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6044334602718324995'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/11/rip-van-winkle.html' title='Rip Van Winkle'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-7789895099823265533</id><published>2011-11-06T09:41:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-11-06T09:47:53.730-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Birthday</title><content type='html'>My nephew turned two a few days ago and he is the nephew that I remember the most about. He was the one that I got to visit in the hospital the day he was born (I was out of town for all the other births). On top of that, two days after he was born, my brother and sister-in-law had a really important business dinner to attend, so I got to babysit him, at two days old, for three hours. And I do spend a lot of time with him, so we've bonded.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll never forget the first time I babysat him. My brother told me that he would wake up around 6:30 to be fed, that I just needed to burp him and then let him sleep in the bassinet. He woke up like clock work and after feeding him, I tried to burp him, but heard nothing. Fearing that he might aspirate on vomit, I just held him until my brother and sister-in-law came home. When they arrived at about 9ish, they asked if he had woken up again. I explained what happened--and they both laughed. My brother told me that the burp would not be loud, it would sound more like a sigh or light pop, in an infant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, happy birthday Elijah!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-7789895099823265533?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/7789895099823265533/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=7789895099823265533' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7789895099823265533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7789895099823265533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/11/happy-birthday.html' title='Happy Birthday'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5767796034060206047</id><published>2011-08-14T17:51:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-14T17:57:09.769-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Companionship</title><content type='html'>There is a show on National Geographics about mail order brides. This fascinates me, not because I would like to order one, but because I don't think I could ever do this, even if I was uber lonely. I'm still getting to use to the fact that some of my friends have met their significant other on-line, thru some of those advertised dating/match making sites. But so far, it was worked for some of my friends. They have found the love of their lives, and a few have even married them. Happy endings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess it's no different than randomly meeting someone in a bar, meeting someone in class in college or accidentally bumping into someone and knocking a stack of papers out of their hands (yes, I know cheesy). You meet someone on line, you chat awhile, you end up talking and then eventually meeting for dinner and voila, you get married.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It is just a different way to meet someone. In some sense, I'm old fashioned. I still feel like you meet the love of your life while plastered and puking your guts out and having made a complete tool of yourself....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5767796034060206047?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5767796034060206047/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5767796034060206047' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5767796034060206047'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5767796034060206047'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/08/companionship.html' title='Companionship'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6746727727138342031</id><published>2011-08-07T14:22:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-08-07T14:26:36.257-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Lazy</title><content type='html'>I'm still around. I've just been lazy. And these hot summer days are not helping the matter. It seems all I want to do is talk about how hot it's been, how unbearable being outdoors has been. I am not one for tropical weather. I've never liked the beach--for as long as I can remember. I've never liked going below the North Carolina/South Carolina border. So this stifling heat is driving me indoors. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You would think that being trapped indoors would give me time to write a little post every now and then. However, being indoors and sedentary, has made me lazy. I do get some reading done. I'm almost done with The Hunger Games trilogy. And I've read some other interesting books as well. I've watched a lot of movies on Netflix and I've also gone to the gym and exercised. So the summer isn't a complete waste. However, the weather is driving me crazy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bring on the fall!! And college football season!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6746727727138342031?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6746727727138342031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6746727727138342031' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6746727727138342031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6746727727138342031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/08/just-lazy.html' title='Just Lazy'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2103799136820380141</id><published>2011-05-18T19:06:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-05-18T19:10:00.557-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Weird Weather</title><content type='html'>I am in Vegas for a couple of days. I could understand the cold in Chicago (during my layover). However, it's pretty chilly here too. So chilly that I'm walking around in a leather jacket. It is so cold that there is no one at the pool. I can see the pool area from my window and I kid you not, there is absolutely no one there. I can only see lifeguards. There is one couple in the jacuzzi, but no one else.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is with the weather lately. I don't recall it being cold, even in West Virginia during the month of May.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hopefully the weather will warm up for a couple days while I'm here. I don't gamble, so I have to find something to do. I will attend some of the medical conference lectures. Yes, I do enjoy those. However, I want to be able to walk along the stip and enjoy sight seeing. My cousins have convinced me to watch one of the shows tonight. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Other than that, it's pretty much indoors for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2103799136820380141?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2103799136820380141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2103799136820380141' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2103799136820380141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2103799136820380141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/05/weird-weather.html' title='Weird Weather'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6868647685050126530</id><published>2011-04-28T23:56:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-28T23:57:56.497-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pain</title><content type='html'>The cliche salt on wounds does have it's background.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, while licking an envelope, I got a paper cut on my lip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Later tonight, while eating some french fries, I dipped them in malt vinegar...talk about painful.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6868647685050126530?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6868647685050126530/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6868647685050126530' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6868647685050126530'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6868647685050126530'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/04/pain.html' title='Pain'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8417480150459250664</id><published>2011-04-24T14:47:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-24T14:48:42.856-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Easter</title><content type='html'>Happy Easter everyone! &lt;br /&gt;I hope everyone had a good day with their loved ones!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8417480150459250664?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8417480150459250664/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8417480150459250664' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8417480150459250664'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8417480150459250664'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/04/happy-easter.html' title='Happy Easter'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-620092275588113168</id><published>2011-04-09T21:55:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-04-09T22:05:29.992-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Laughter Is Contagious</title><content type='html'>My one year old and five year old nephews came over to visit today. Their older sister turned seven and she was having an exclusive all girls birthday party. They had cupcake decorating, nail painting and tiara making activities. The one thing she stipulated was absolutely no boys. So to abide by this rule, her younger brothers were delivered to me for the afternoon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While I read stories to the one year old, the five year old was watching a DVD. It was one of his favorites--yes, one of those that gets played several times a day. And although he had probably seen it a hundred times,  he laughed at the funny parts as heartily as he did the first time he watched it.  The sound of his happiness warmed my heart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was a little grumpy early in the day, but hearing him laugh...completely turned that around.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-620092275588113168?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/620092275588113168/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=620092275588113168' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/620092275588113168'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/620092275588113168'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/04/laughter-is-contagious.html' title='Laughter Is Contagious'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6129526887079732731</id><published>2011-03-31T12:49:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-31T12:57:18.068-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Hello/Goodbye</title><content type='html'>I saw an old friend at a bookstore the other day. I recognized her after awhile. She walked in and I thought there was something familiar about her, but couldn't place her. She didn't see me because she was busy with four children, the youngest in her arms. The children's noise is what first made me look up and take notice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After I had placed her, I thought I should go up and say hello. We did go to the movies together several times in junior high. We sat at the same lunchroom table. In high school, she her family had moved out of town, so we lost touch. I thought I should say hello, but then what would I say? Hello and then goodbye? So I kept my silence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She never saw me, or at least I don't think she did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do you say to old friends, especially ones you haven't seen since junior high. There really isn't anything to talk about. And it isn't like we would become quick friends all over again and have dinner. One of our common friends Missy said that maybe she was new back in town and could use some old friends. But Missy is a chick, she's all about increasing her circle of friends (was that horrible for me to say).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of children, what did everyone think of the tennis player who lobbed a ball towards the crying child in the stands. On the flip side, what was a parent thinking bringing a small child to a tennis match?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6129526887079732731?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6129526887079732731/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6129526887079732731' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6129526887079732731'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6129526887079732731'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/03/hellogoodbye.html' title='Hello/Goodbye'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6552641854713874901</id><published>2011-03-20T17:06:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-20T17:13:53.324-04:00</updated><title type='text'>An Electronics Idiot</title><content type='html'>I love electronics. I love going to an electronics store just to browse and I will occasionally make a purchase. But I have yet to be able to use anything I own to it's fullest potential. My cell phone, my laptop and my tablet thingamajig are some of the things that I have yet to utilize fully.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I recently (well about two months ago) caved and bought one of those tablet things--and wouldn't you know, less then a year later (a few weeks ago) the company created an upgraded version. I'm not that mad--one of the only major differences is the addition of a camera. I don't plan on taking photos with it or doing any face to face conferences or chatting. I do have to say that it's probably one of the best purchases I have made in a long time. I haven't used my laptop in weeks because of it. But I am using my laptop now because I'm posting. I have yet to figure out how to use it to post. I have tried several times. I can enter a title..but it never lets me get to the writing a post portion of blogger. Maybe I'm missing a step. Or maybe I just don't know what I'm doing. I think it's a mix of the two.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still hate that my links to many of the blogs I read are missing...gone forever, lost in cyberspace. They say to never post something on-line because it will forever be out there. And yet, my blog links are gone....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6552641854713874901?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6552641854713874901/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6552641854713874901' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6552641854713874901'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6552641854713874901'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/03/electronics-idiot.html' title='An Electronics Idiot'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-148016367097251981</id><published>2011-03-13T20:26:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2011-03-13T20:38:07.818-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Again Way Too Long</title><content type='html'>So yes, it has been another long stretch of absence. And not because I wanted to, but really because I keep forgetting to write. I've been busy, yeah yeah no excuse. Because I've really been busy doing nothing at all. Some of the things that have been occupying my time aside from work are--watching all the Scrubs episodes I've missed on-line through one of those on-line movie subscription sites (not going to name it because I know that it will get googled and people will end up reading my boring banter). I have also been watching other shows that I've missed in the past.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I finally bought one of those tablet things (which I've been playing with a lot). In fact it has pretty much replaced my laptop. One of the things that has irked me however is that less than a year later, they have already updated adding a front facing and back camera. Not that I need one, I can't imagine holding this thing up and telling people to smile. I do use "words with friends" a lot on it...and every one of my friends has been kicking my butt on it. I have yet to win a game....and just five minutes ago I figured out, one doesn't really have to use a big word so much as to cover the tiles with higher scoring points. So much for my strategy. I thought that using a higher end vocabulary word would score one points. Not necessarily. Did you know that "&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;qi&lt;/span&gt;" is a word which counts for many points especially when positioned on a certain tile. So now I need to regroup and start just throwing down letters onto high point tiles.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This time I mean it. I will be back more often...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-148016367097251981?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/148016367097251981/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=148016367097251981' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/148016367097251981'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/148016367097251981'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/03/again-way-too-long.html' title='Again Way Too Long'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-556284463234117954</id><published>2011-02-11T16:55:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2011-02-11T17:01:26.633-05:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Been A Long Time</title><content type='html'>Wowsa...and I have missed visiting the other blogs. I just got really busy before and right after the holidays.  So I will be making my rounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have realized that my links to everyone's blogs are gone. So I will have to go through the past comments to be able to find most of you. I have no idea what happened to the link and I have no idea how to get it back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I'll be on here soon...and I'm coming to read everyone else who have posted new stories and updates.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-556284463234117954?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/556284463234117954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=556284463234117954' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/556284463234117954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/556284463234117954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2011/02/its-been-long-time.html' title='It&apos;s Been A Long Time'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-9138253596491127463</id><published>2010-12-16T11:24:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-16T12:07:28.638-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Originality....</title><content type='html'>I wonder why many of the "new" movies are re-boots of old ones. Seriously, have they already run out of ideas or are they simply riding the coat tails of previous successors? I don't think there is a lack of material out there--just look at the best seller aisle in any book store. Or turn on the news, there is always a new scandal, a new late breaking story or storyline that the world follows. Do they really have to re-do old stories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For instance, classics like Charlie and The Chocolate Factory. I know that it's old. I know that you can now see some set design flaws and because of newer technology, the Oompa Loompas won't look like spray tanned freak. However, the story has been done. It was loved and by me, is still loved. I watched the newer one and yes it has it's appeal...and the time period between Charlie getting his ticket was a lot shorter (so we missed out on the one song I didn't like as a child--"Cheer Up Charlie"). The new may have had a different twist, but didn't have that same appeal. Even my younger cousins and nephews and nieces like the older version. One niece was terrified by a squirrel scene in the newer one and has since refused to watch it again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, off on a tangent. My point is, instead of duping movie goers with old ideas, try investing in some younger talent, giving a chance to a new fresh mind. I'm sure many of those writers, directors and actors who have had the doors slammed in their faces can bring in some originality. I don't know how the whole brainstorm to development panel out there works, but something has got to be done about sequels, prequels and reboots.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-9138253596491127463?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/9138253596491127463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=9138253596491127463' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/9138253596491127463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/9138253596491127463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/12/originality.html' title='Originality....'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6825019816411276735</id><published>2010-12-09T21:11:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-09T21:14:57.982-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby It's Cold Outside</title><content type='html'>After my spin class tonight, I stopped in a convenience store to get some fluid replacement drinks. As I was waiting in line, a kind southern laden voice from behind admonished me with this statement..."boy it's cold outside, you'd better find the other half of your pants". I turned around and this man was smiling and pointing at my shorts.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I explained that I had just come from the gym. And then he said in reply, "oh well than it's really not that cold out...".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had to laugh out loud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just thought I would share that with you. Not sure why it made me laugh.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6825019816411276735?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6825019816411276735/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6825019816411276735' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6825019816411276735'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6825019816411276735'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/12/baby-its-cold-outside.html' title='Baby It&apos;s Cold Outside'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1653419456972304181</id><published>2010-12-02T11:20:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-12-02T11:24:36.908-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The News</title><content type='html'>I have recently been getting my news from the trending now portion of my laptop's homepage. Some of the things that are trending now, are truly not news worthy. I can't believe some of the topics that interest people. And out of curiosity, I also click to see why they have been deemed newsworthy. Therefore, I help perpetuate their interest. It's a vicious cycle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that I should be more informed, that I should tune in to more news channels. I just wish there was more feel good news to report. And every so often, we do get the news clip about something good that has happened. This is one of the reasons I love Anderson Cooper's "Heroes" reports. Ordinary people, doing extra-ordinary things.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1653419456972304181?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1653419456972304181/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1653419456972304181' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1653419456972304181'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1653419456972304181'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/12/news.html' title='The News'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2883346133856460172</id><published>2010-11-24T15:20:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-24T15:24:39.092-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>Happy Thanksgiving everyone!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My brother-in-law will be deep frying a turkey tomorrow...and making some mean wings. Unhealthy I know, but it's only once a year. I'm not a meat eater at the moment, but that may change. I am not a vegetarian. But for right now I've been avoiding meat (well mainly animals that once had hooves or feet--I still devour fish and other seafood). But upon smelling the turkey with fixings, that may change. Plus he really does make some tasty wings. Tomorrow may find me back on the carnivore side of the food pyramid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Thanksgiving!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2883346133856460172?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2883346133856460172/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2883346133856460172' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2883346133856460172'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2883346133856460172'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/11/happy-thanksgiving.html' title='Happy Thanksgiving'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8370056471375070330</id><published>2010-11-16T20:18:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-16T20:31:36.071-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Smile....Someone May Need It</title><content type='html'>The old adage about smiling making &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;someones&lt;/span&gt; day--there is one out there and I know if I try to quote it, it won't come out right--is true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was having a lousy day. I woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Didn't get enough sleep and woke up with a headache to top it all off. Needless to say, my morning didn't start off too well. Nothing happened at work--it was just another day (actually the part of the day that I do enjoy). But all day long I just didn't feel right. Have you ever had one of those days when your mood is left of center, but you can't pinpoint why? This was the day I was having.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After work, I stopped off at a grocery store and while I was searching a shelf for something needed, I heard a voice say "how you doing"? Without taking my eyes off the shelf (lest I lose my place and forget what brand/item I was looking for) I politely but not genuinely replied "fine, and you". The person replied "Can't complain...and why should I...just take the day as it comes and it will all be okay". I turned and look at this person, who was smiling while continuing the conversation. A nice genuine smile. Maybe they had to greet each customer as required by the job, but the smile was genuine. And for some reason, the smile made my day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I would not be able to pick this person out of a crowd now. But their smile was contagious. After that minute interaction, I was alright. The headache gone and I felt like smiling for the rest of the day. Still smiling now as I write this post.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have a good night everyone.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8370056471375070330?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8370056471375070330/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8370056471375070330' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8370056471375070330'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8370056471375070330'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/11/smilesomeone-may-need-it.html' title='Smile....Someone May Need It'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6338881308503871454</id><published>2010-11-10T15:46:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-11-10T15:48:18.424-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Are My Blog Links</title><content type='html'>Been extremely busy lately, but I stopped by my much neglected blog today so that I visit the blogs I usually follow and the links were missing. I hope that this is a glitch just for today, otherwise I'm screwed. I remember some of the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;www's&lt;/span&gt; that I follow, but not all of them. I don't ever really remember the site that I used to include these links.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Argh&lt;/span&gt;...and just when I thought I had some time to relax and catch up....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6338881308503871454?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6338881308503871454/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6338881308503871454' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6338881308503871454'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6338881308503871454'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/11/where-are-my-blog-links.html' title='Where Are My Blog Links'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8175707251287880958</id><published>2010-10-27T14:02:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-10-27T14:17:06.335-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Halloween</title><content type='html'>Happy Halloween everyone!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When I pick out the candy I'm going to give out this time of year, it's a bit self serving because I buy in bulk the candy I hope will be left over. And although I know that indulging in this much sugar isn't good for me, I still make those purchases. Lucky for most trick or &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;treaters&lt;/span&gt;, the candy I like is pretty popular and well-liked. I just know that I will have to work extra hard in spin class and in kick-boxing class because I will be eating that candy left in the jar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I find it interesting that there are laws which govern the age limits on children going door to door. Yes, it is a bit awkward to see non-dressed up celebrators in the midst of costumes and make-up,  holding a pillow case. But at the same time, we're sitting on the front porch handing out free candy. What's a few extra pieces to those stragglers who are brave enough to handle sarcastic remarks and glaring side glances?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I read an article somewhere on the web and I'm not sure if it is applicable to my area, those who trick or treat beyond certain age restrictions are subject to fines. I don't think that these fines will truly be upheld, but still, are we going to go to the extreme of fining someone just having a little fun? And is it really that pertinent?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, have a good &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;halloween&lt;/span&gt;....&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8175707251287880958?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8175707251287880958/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8175707251287880958' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8175707251287880958'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8175707251287880958'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/10/happy-halloween.html' title='Happy Halloween'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2662965353329714667</id><published>2010-09-30T10:23:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-09-30T10:27:28.139-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Bring on the Flu</title><content type='html'>Well, my favorite time of year is here and with it came a bout of the flu. I haven't gotten it in a long time and now it's hit me. And I'm miserable and whiny. I hate having crap drain from my nose. I hate feeling congested and the heavy, sinking feeling that my head has when I lift it up from my pillow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ugh...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2662965353329714667?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2662965353329714667/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2662965353329714667' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2662965353329714667'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2662965353329714667'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/09/bring-on-flu.html' title='Bring on the Flu'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-7744040329316512776</id><published>2010-08-09T18:50:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-09T18:58:58.895-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Taste First</title><content type='html'>I will never make a good chef. I can't cook. I've tried and it doesn't seem to work. If I do cook, I have to follow a recipe perfectly, without deviating. It is the only way that this creating will taste like food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I tend to spice something before I taste. It's a bad habit, I know. I throw salt onto my meal before I take the first bite. I thank goodness that my blood pressure is pretty normal. This maybe the result of good genes or else because I try to exercise a couple times a week. I can't imagine what my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;BP&lt;/span&gt; would be if I didn't work out or drink water constantly (and flush everything out).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I told myself today that I wouldn't spice without tasting...and I was cooking a frozen ready to serve meal. And yet, I still threw some garlic salt into the mix, without tasting it first.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe the next time I put together a kitchen, I will leave the spice rack at the store.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-7744040329316512776?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/7744040329316512776/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=7744040329316512776' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7744040329316512776'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7744040329316512776'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/08/taste-first.html' title='Taste First'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8067321552622664434</id><published>2010-08-04T23:37:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-08-04T23:40:23.575-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Where Did The TIme Go</title><content type='html'>Not really sure why I haven't visited...or checked in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life hasn't changed. I'm still boring. I still don't have a life. And so, maybe that is why I haven't written anything. I haven't had anything to tell you.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I do know that I'm going to Vegas in October. My cousin will be celebrating her 21st birthday there and I was lucky enough to snag an invite. I don't know what I'll be doing there. I don't drink, I don't gamble and I do like staged shows. So whatever happens in Vegas can also happen here at home. But it's something to do.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8067321552622664434?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8067321552622664434/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8067321552622664434' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8067321552622664434'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8067321552622664434'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/08/where-did-time-go.html' title='Where Did The TIme Go'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5283579651333600826</id><published>2010-06-15T15:12:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-15T15:27:50.233-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Weather</title><content type='html'>It's been so unbelievably hot today. Scorching. Probably not scorching or uncomfortable for anyone who lives in tropical weather, but for me, it's uncomfortable. I've never been a fan of tropical weather. Never liked going to the beach (I don't like sand...and I'm terrified of sharks--but I'm also fascinated by them too). So whenever my family would whoop and yell to go to the beach, always outnumbered, I went gritting my teeth.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm not sure what destination would be my perfect vacation. I've been to many big cities--Chicago, New York, Vegas, Los Angeles, Houston...and while they are fun for a few days, I always come back more tired than when I left. This is probably true for those coming back from any vacation. You spend all your time trying to cram in all sights and activities in approximately one week, give or take a few travel days/hours and you are left exhausted. I'm not sure that visiting a big city could constitute a vacation for me...maybe just a get away.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Although I'm in need of a vacation, I don't know where I would go...I'm going to have to think about this for awhile.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5283579651333600826?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5283579651333600826/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5283579651333600826' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5283579651333600826'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5283579651333600826'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/06/weather.html' title='Weather'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5785701846519486474</id><published>2010-06-08T17:00:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-08T17:14:02.931-04:00</updated><title type='text'>New Phone?</title><content type='html'>I have been considering buying a new phone for a long time. I don't really need one. My &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Treo&lt;/span&gt; works just fine. It still looks fairly new (I haven't dropped it, although with the drop calls I have been tempted to throw it out a window). It basically does everything I need it to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've gone to the cell phone store several times, just to browse. The first time I went, there were so many people there, I left. I didn't want to swim through a crowd to get to a display. The second time I went, I was bombarded by over eager sales people. They were way too aggressive and I'm one to buy something just because someone pitches good sales conversation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now I have been a bit hesitant, since one of my friends was bamboozled by sales person who told her she could update without problem. She was then billed later for the complete cost of the phone. I would be that customer that didn't hear the "fine lines" clause spoken under breath and so quickly that it sounded like they've only sneezed or coughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank goodness that I haven't found a phone that I really really like yet...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5785701846519486474?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5785701846519486474/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5785701846519486474' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5785701846519486474'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5785701846519486474'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/06/new-phone.html' title='New Phone?'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-7336149814841377896</id><published>2010-06-01T19:28:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-06-01T19:32:47.474-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Ice Cream Maker</title><content type='html'>My buddies had an ice cream party this weekend. They made tons of ice cream--all different flavors. I don't think I've eaten so much ice cream in my life. And so my last post, about diets and eating correctly has been nullified by this Sunday shin-dig.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, for real, tomorrow, I'm going to start loading up on vegetables and protein. I will eat better and will exercise more. I've noticed that when I'm eating correctly, I exercise more efficiently. I promise that tomorrow will be a new day and that I will eat healthy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-7336149814841377896?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/7336149814841377896/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=7336149814841377896' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7336149814841377896'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7336149814841377896'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/06/ice-cream-maker.html' title='Ice Cream Maker'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2582549379336595442</id><published>2010-05-19T16:03:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-19T16:13:55.190-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's About the Way You Look</title><content type='html'>Circulating in the news today is the story about an employee having to lose weight in order to keep her job. I was a bit annoyed at this notion. Yes, I know that the establishment has a certain criteria to uphold. This establishment is known for their employee's looks. However, to demand that an employee lose weight may be a bit harsh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I could understand helping them through encouragement or gentle (should I use that word as an adjective) criticism. I don't know. On one hand I want to say that there is a look that must be kept, on the other hand, it's kinda mean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's a bit shallow, but looks are money makers. Think about how much money super models make just to smile. The endorsements that a good looking person gets just to wear a certain brand of clothing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've always believed in the cliche, that beauty is skin deep. But skin deep doesn't always draw in the crowds. When we want to set up our friends with someone we know isn't hot, we always describe the person as "really nice, has a sense of humor, likable, or a great personality". But if the person is gorgeous, we say "you have to go out with them, they are hot".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Speaking of weight, I really need to start eating healthy again.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2582549379336595442?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2582549379336595442/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2582549379336595442' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2582549379336595442'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2582549379336595442'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/05/its-about-way-you-look.html' title='It&apos;s About the Way You Look'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6145586641429173358</id><published>2010-05-04T17:11:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-05-04T17:14:49.285-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Some Truths</title><content type='html'>I was watching one of those design/make-over shows today. I find it fascinating that they can take a basic crap hole and turn it into something worthy of a magazine photo lay-out, all for under 1000 dollars. Every single time they show the owners the end result, it's always a resounding "Oh my gosh, I LOVE it".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wonder how many times they have had to re-shoot when an owner actually says "What the frig". Or an owner that goes ballistic cause they've thrown away something they weren't suppose to, or turned a man-cave into a bedroom (try taking that away from some guy who needs it to escape family life). They never seem to show those reactions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6145586641429173358?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6145586641429173358/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6145586641429173358' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6145586641429173358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6145586641429173358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/05/some-truths.html' title='Some Truths'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1214794904782453277</id><published>2010-04-20T10:35:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-20T10:42:09.837-04:00</updated><title type='text'>No News Good News</title><content type='html'>It seems today that all we hear is bad news. The evening stories and the news channels are over flowing with stories of disasters, war and tragedies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We never really hear any good news anymore. And if we do, it's one story out of ten. I know that there are some good things going on in the world. I hear people talk about it all the time. High school students raising money for a charity, co-workers taking part in a walk to raise money for research, volunteers helping out those who need it. We just don't hear those stories. But they are there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sometimes we need a little sunshine, just a little, to remind us that there is still some good left.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1214794904782453277?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1214794904782453277/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1214794904782453277' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1214794904782453277'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1214794904782453277'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/04/no-news-good-news.html' title='No News Good News'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-4508849214268358411</id><published>2010-04-13T16:11:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-13T16:14:25.736-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pollen Allergies</title><content type='html'>Yay, spring is here. Boo to allergies. I suffer from horrific allergies. I want to gouge my itchy eyes out. They itch so much, I'm sometimes awakened at night because of the discomfort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And don't get me started on the runny nose.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm so happy that spring has sprung. And the weather has been beautiful. However, I can't enjoy the outdoors just yet. I have to wait till everything is done blooming. I have to wait till most of the pollen is out of the air. Until then, I watch most of the blossoming from a window.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-4508849214268358411?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/4508849214268358411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=4508849214268358411' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/4508849214268358411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/4508849214268358411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/04/pollen-allergies.html' title='Pollen Allergies'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-3980163106520737813</id><published>2010-04-08T19:00:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-08T19:02:23.012-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Say A Prayer</title><content type='html'>Please keep the families, friends and all those affected by the coal mine disaster in West Virginia in your prayers and thoughts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-3980163106520737813?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/3980163106520737813/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=3980163106520737813' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3980163106520737813'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3980163106520737813'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/04/say-prayer.html' title='Say A Prayer'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-283570743747631388</id><published>2010-04-03T15:56:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-04-03T16:05:15.918-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Easter</title><content type='html'>The end of Lent is tomorrow, Easter Day. For forty days, I've given up eating meat, chocolate (and any kind of dessert--ice cream, cake, pies, candy) and chips. And as the temptation started to set in, basically two weeks into the forty days, I started to ponder the reason behind giving up something for Lent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was taught as a youngster that it was a form of sacrifice, something that we did to show our love to the Lord. However, as I have grown, I know that a relationship with God isn't something that is shown in a forty day period. It's an ongoing, growing and evolving thing. A younger cousin of mine recently said that instead of giving up something, he wanted to do something more active. He volunteered for a local charity or he gave some time to a shelter of some sort.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To me this made more sense. Why give up something that I was going to indulge in once the forty days was over. I am probably just rationalizing just a few hours before I go into a meat, chip and chocolate induced coma state. But next year, I think that actively giving to a charitable organization or shelter would be more productive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For now, I'm just counting down to the hour that I can eat a steak (wrapped in bacon, topped with crumbled meat), have some nachos for an appetizer and have a chocolate cake for dessert.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-283570743747631388?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/283570743747631388/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=283570743747631388' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/283570743747631388'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/283570743747631388'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/04/happy-easter.html' title='Happy Easter'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2550402882510672253</id><published>2010-03-30T16:41:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2010-03-30T17:00:40.651-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Again Way Too Long</title><content type='html'>Yes, it has been way too long since I've written. Let's just chalk it up to pure laziness. I do have things to write about, nothing eye opening or worth talking about around the water cooler, but topics I think about on a daily basis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently I had horrible pizza. It was so horrible it ruined my day, the night and the following morning. It is from a popular pizza company. Maybe they were having a bad day. Maybe someone was being trained. Maybe an employee was disgruntled. Never-the-less, I was the subject of the worse pizza I have had in decades. The dough was raw. The sauce was so baked onto the crust that it was dried out and the toppings were inadequate.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Have you ever had a meal that was so horrid, it ruined your appetite? And I was so looking forward to eating that pizza. I may not have pizza for awhile now, this is how turned off I was about the whole meal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I came back to just bitch...that's about it. I'll write again in a few days. And this time I promise I'll be back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2550402882510672253?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2550402882510672253/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2550402882510672253' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2550402882510672253'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2550402882510672253'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/03/again-way-too-long.html' title='Again Way Too Long'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8643000305541128169</id><published>2010-02-15T19:34:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2010-02-15T19:38:15.882-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Idea</title><content type='html'>On Saturday I heard one of the worst commercial promises. The announcer said something like "your loved one will think you spent hours picking out this gift". Hours to pick out something that they were selling. The announcer said that they would carefully gift wrap and the presentation itself would be breath taking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does this loved one not listen to the radio or watch television? Because if not, then yeah, this loved one would think that you carefully and wrapped this gift in a breath taking manner. But if the do listen to the radio or watch television, then your gift just ends up looking cheesy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So did anyone get anything good for Valentine's Day? Did you get a gift you won't forget, or one that was marketed so that you'd think she/he spent many hours picking out this perfect token of affection?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8643000305541128169?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8643000305541128169/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8643000305541128169' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8643000305541128169'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8643000305541128169'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/02/good-idea.html' title='Good Idea'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6468227894616391574</id><published>2010-01-31T12:44:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-31T12:52:30.823-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Double Negatives</title><content type='html'>Aren't there some actions that cancel out one another? The other day, I saw someone working out, and chewing tobacco at the same time. I thought at first he was carrying around a drink. It turned out he was using the cup as a spitoon (sp?--I don't know how to spell this word). Isn't the whole point of working out to get healthy? It's like those guys who go running, only to smoke and drink later (I'm not calling out any of my buddies--but you know who you are).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've also seen people order a huge meal (large fries, large sandwich) and then order a diet drink. WTF? All that grease and then you are going to save calories on the drink? Yeah, it's a start for many. Personally I don't like soda. This doesn't  make me a better person. However it does make me less hyper. Many who know me personally know that every bit of sugar denial helps to keep my energy level in check.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worse action is those who text and drive. This may be fodder for another blog entry. You are wearing a seat belt (always a good thing), driving the speed limit, but then you play with your phone. Never a good thing to play with the phone and drive. Heck, I'm not good with walking and talking on the phone at the same time. When I do use the phone in the car, it's always with a headset/blue-tooth device.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyone else know any double negatives?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6468227894616391574?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6468227894616391574/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6468227894616391574' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6468227894616391574'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6468227894616391574'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/01/double-negatives.html' title='Double Negatives'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-3652518439258150878</id><published>2010-01-23T09:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2010-01-23T09:31:45.131-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Love Changes Everything</title><content type='html'>Does being in love change everything? Can it actually change the way one looks? Is it a better option than dieting, a make-over or spending hours at the gym?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Recently one of my buddies was passing through town and asked me to meet him for dinner. When he walked into the room, or should I say strutted, I immediately noticed something different. I told him he looked different and asked if he lost weight, got a tan or was wearing his hair different.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Something about him was different and I couldn't put my finger on it. During dinner, his phone rang and he politely excused himself saying he had to take the call. When he came back, he explained that he was sorry, his girlfriend just wanted to make sure he was safe since he had been driving so long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there it was. The confidence, the smile, the reason that he wasn't wearing sweats on his long drive home. Someone at home was waiting for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And when I realized why his looks had changed, the nerd I met in college suddenly resurfaced. However, the nerd had better skin and a more symmetrical haircut (and he bathed using soap).&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-3652518439258150878?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/3652518439258150878/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=3652518439258150878' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3652518439258150878'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3652518439258150878'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2010/01/love-changes-everything.html' title='Love Changes Everything'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5538778416253458348</id><published>2009-12-16T17:20:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-16T17:27:17.497-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Last Minute Christmas Excursions</title><content type='html'>I still have a headache from my trip to the mall yesterday. I was there to do some almost last minute Christmas shopping. The lines were horrible. The sales were not really sales--for the most part I think they were just regular sales, but the holly and pine cones surrounding the signs made them more appealing or seem like real deals.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why I get grumpy when I'm at the mall. Maybe it's because I don't like shopping. I do however like getting gifts for people. Maybe yesterday was more tiresome because I waited in register lines forever!!!! Because when I did get home and I was organizing all these gifts, I got a bit excited about the prospect of giving them to my friends, family and loved ones. I can't wait to see the smiles on their faces.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think next year, I will just start early. I sort of started early this year. Whenever I would see something that I thought would make the perfect gift, I would store the idea in my Treo.  Next year, I will just make the purchase right then and there. It will save me from having to go through the shopping rush again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think some eggnog will help me get over this mood.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5538778416253458348?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5538778416253458348/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5538778416253458348' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5538778416253458348'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5538778416253458348'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/12/last-minute-christmas-excursions.html' title='Last Minute Christmas Excursions'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-7889762164922938728</id><published>2009-12-11T11:45:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-11T11:53:39.115-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Slow Down, You Will Cause An Accident</title><content type='html'>I have never understood why people go faster than the speed limit.  Yesterday I witnessed two accidents waiting to happen. Accident waiting to happen number one was some guy in a flatbed truck weaving his way in and out other cars going the speed limit. He was going faster than a flatbed double wide extended truck should be going. Why this man felt the need to go this fast was beyond me. I don't think he was going to the hospital, as he completely by-passed that exit. And it didn't look like he was being chased.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In accident waiting to happen number 2, a woman was on a cell phone, going pretty fast and she turned onto a "do not enter" one way traffic street. I think because she was on her cell phone, probably talking about new shoes (yeah, I know...pretty bad an assumption) she was oblivious to the two do not enter signs that were posted. I saw and heard her come to a screeching halt when she realized what she had done. Afraid that she would smash into me, I stopped my car and waited for her to correct her mistake. She stayed on the phone the whole time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only time I think it's fun to go this fast is on some Xbox games. Other than that, I'm scared of going through my windshield face first.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-7889762164922938728?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/7889762164922938728/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=7889762164922938728' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7889762164922938728'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7889762164922938728'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/12/slow-down-you-will-cause-accident.html' title='Slow Down, You Will Cause An Accident'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2889143160315619846</id><published>2009-12-03T16:18:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-12-03T16:25:04.111-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Music With Many Voices</title><content type='html'>One of the first Christmas songs I heard for the season was the song with the chorus "ring Christmas bells"--where the choir sings in unison and then each singer weaves the different verses in a way that sort of blends, but at the same time drown one another out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While listening to it and fighting back the start of a migraine, I remembered someone trying to describe to me what hearing voices was like. This person said that sometimes the voices spoke in unison, with a common theme/argument. Other times, they spoke all at the same time, trying to drown one another out. I wonder if it sounded anything like this song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For the most part I love Christmas music. I have a huge collection of different artists and varied interpretations of the many classics. This song however is not one that I have ever enjoyed. I do however enjoy seeing an older cast of comediennes from SNL make fun of it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2889143160315619846?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2889143160315619846/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2889143160315619846' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2889143160315619846'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2889143160315619846'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/12/music-with-many-voices.html' title='Music With Many Voices'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5323582894554817503</id><published>2009-11-27T15:41:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-27T15:45:47.062-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A Different Purge</title><content type='html'>I hope everyone had a great Thanksgiving. Once again, thanks to my brother-in-law, we had two awesome deep fried turkeys on the table!! And he hit the yum buttons with these delicacies.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now, after stuffing myself senseless, eating like I've never eaten before (hey, I usually only have pecan pie this time of year) and scarfing down every side dish imaginable, I find myself still feeling like I could throw up. I guess this is how many people gain approximately 15 pounds over the holidays. They just eat. And it doesn't really seem like you are eating when you are in a social situation. You converse, only to take a breather from conversing to fill your plate again. Several times I didn't even realize that I had eaten because I was either listening intently to someone recap their year, or else doing the recapping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All in all I had a great thanksgiving. I hope everyone else did too!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5323582894554817503?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5323582894554817503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5323582894554817503' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5323582894554817503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5323582894554817503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/11/different-purge.html' title='A Different Purge'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-4731060933302045082</id><published>2009-11-22T15:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-22T15:32:13.483-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Purging</title><content type='html'>I was going through the closet, putting away summer crap and unfolding winter crap. And I've realized I have a lot of crap. Some of this stuff I've never worn, some of it I rarely wear and some of it I wear over and over again. The big realization hit me...we don't need that many clothes. The bigger realization was that this was just taking up space. Thank goodness I'm an ordinary guy (as opposed to being a celebrity) and nobody really takes note of what I wear or cares for that matter. So I don't really need to have that many different outfits to change in to.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So on my few days off for turkey day, I'm going to purge everything. Everything must go. It just takes up space. It's more stuff to wash. I don't know why I'm hanging on to most of it anyway. I know that I'm sort of a pack rat--but that is mostly with sentimental stuff--things that were birthday, Christmas, and just for being me gifts. But clothes? There is no reason to hang onto these things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And I know just the place to donate most of this stuff.  Someone else will get better use of it. And it will get worn and not just gather moth ball smells.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-4731060933302045082?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/4731060933302045082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=4731060933302045082' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/4731060933302045082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/4731060933302045082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/11/purging.html' title='Purging'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6411664097649467331</id><published>2009-11-15T13:30:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-15T13:34:41.341-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ouch At The Gym</title><content type='html'>Today at the gym, three women were talking. From the sound of it, they were all really good friends. As soon as one of the pack left, the other two pulled out their fangs. One of them said something like "she really hasn't lost as much weight as she thinks". The other agreed and said it was not time for her to wear tights yet. They also said something like just because the woman worked out, it didn't give her liberty to still eat fast foods.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ouch!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wow. I don't ever remember being with a pack of guys that talked like that. I wonder when I leave if my buddies say things like "he still has a belly". I wonder if they even notice things like this. At least I don't wear tights.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6411664097649467331?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6411664097649467331/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6411664097649467331' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6411664097649467331'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6411664097649467331'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/11/ouch-at-gym.html' title='Ouch At The Gym'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6478843137938178884</id><published>2009-11-10T10:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-10T10:34:56.229-05:00</updated><title type='text'>"Healthy" Salad Bars</title><content type='html'>Have you ever noticed that salad bars now how the fixings that can create a 2500 calorie salad? Items like genuine real chopped up bacon bits (my favorite--I usually get a bowl full and then add lettuce leaves as garnish), butter fried croutons drizzled with shaved parmesan cheese, cheese blocks themselves, anchovies, and even the dressings themselves are loaded with calories.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So at times I like to fool myself into thinking that I'm eating healthy by opting for the salad bar, however just ordering a steak and baked potato, minus the bar would have given me less calories than the nine trips I've made creating a "healthy" salad.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6478843137938178884?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6478843137938178884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6478843137938178884' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6478843137938178884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6478843137938178884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/11/healthy-salad-bars.html' title='&quot;Healthy&quot; Salad Bars'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6988636880381302793</id><published>2009-11-01T13:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2009-11-01T13:48:26.370-05:00</updated><title type='text'>With A Little Help</title><content type='html'>A few days ago, I did something that I don't ordinarily do. It's not that I don't believe in charity. I give money to charities whenever I can. I sponsor my friends in fund raising marathons/walkathons and other events. But I usually don't give money to those asking for it on the street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A few days ago, I was passing a man who stood outside his car asking for a few bucks to buy gas. Apparently his car had run out of gas in the middle of a mall parking lot. I noticed that a few other persons ignored this man, not even stopping to let him finish his sentence. As I passed him, he told me that he only needed a dollar or so, just to get enough gas into his tank to get home. I told him that I didn't carry cash and that I was sorry. As I passed his car, I saw a baby carrier in the back seat of his car. There was an infant in it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I turned around and gave the man some money. I told him to have a good night and to drive home safely. He smiled and said thank you, opened his trunk and searched for a gas container. When I saw that child seat in his car, something inside told me that he wasn't lying, that he had honestly broken down in the parking lot. Maybe it was the fact that he wasn't holding his child outside the car and using the child as a prop to get sympathy. The cool chill in the air may have had something to do with my sudden feeling of compassion. I don't know. And I had already felt bad for lying in the first place (telling him I had no cash).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope wherever they are, they had made it home, safe and sound.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If I am not mistaken, I think &lt;a href="http://lahilton.blogspot.com"&gt;Lee Ann&lt;/a&gt;, had written a similar post to this one about a year ago.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6988636880381302793?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6988636880381302793/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6988636880381302793' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6988636880381302793'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6988636880381302793'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/11/with-little-help.html' title='With A Little Help'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2283729003297991877</id><published>2009-10-29T16:35:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-29T16:36:24.705-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Halloween</title><content type='html'>Have a happy halloween!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will be gaining weight because of all the left over candy I'm sure I will consume...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everyone have a safe and fun weekend!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2283729003297991877?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2283729003297991877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2283729003297991877' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2283729003297991877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2283729003297991877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/10/happy-halloween.html' title='Happy Halloween'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6132715697233264061</id><published>2009-10-22T20:26:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-22T20:35:20.721-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Late Night Sales</title><content type='html'>Late at night, you see some of the funkiest commercials and items for sale. Some of these commercials make it to day time too (like that shammy cloth one--you know the product, I'm not going to give it any press here).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But a couple nights ago, there was an info-commercial for sex toys!! For sex toys!! And of course I was interested and watched. All kinds of different stuff. Stuff made of glass, microwaveable sculptures and even freezer friendly stuff.  Every color, shape and material too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought it very professional that the sales girls kept straight faces while selling these items.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also have seen the increase one's size and longevity commercials. And the companies have patrons that aren't afraid to admit they needed the size increasing magic bean. Very open minded and brave that they are able to admit on television that their tally-whacker isn't up to par. They can even do it with a smile on their face. I don't think I would be smiling if I had to talk about my danglies in an open forum with cameras and crew members surrounding me. But you go guys!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just some weird stuff that happens in the wee hours of the morning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6132715697233264061?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6132715697233264061/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6132715697233264061' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6132715697233264061'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6132715697233264061'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/10/late-night-sales.html' title='Late Night Sales'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2599836542635942531</id><published>2009-10-16T22:05:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-16T22:16:21.487-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Scary Movies</title><content type='html'>A friend of mine is trying to get me to watch one of the Halloween thrillers with our other friends. I'm such a chicken, that I refuse. I am that person who was freaked out by the witch in the Wizard of Oz (as a child, I could never watch the whole munchkin scene because she popped out of nowhere). Even those B-rated thrillers with horrible make-up and costumes scare me (you know like Friday the 13th Part 900)!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I continually tell them that I will scream like a woman and will jump 10 feet out of my chair. I think they actually want to catch me on video and put it on youtube. Not sure why they insist on dragging me to these things. I do not enjoy them. I can't sleep for days (after the last movie they dragged me to, I slept with the lights on and then a night light for about a week).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to pretend to be sick, just until they watch these flicks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2599836542635942531?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2599836542635942531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2599836542635942531' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2599836542635942531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2599836542635942531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/10/scary-movies.html' title='Scary Movies'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-7516354477714210189</id><published>2009-10-12T13:02:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-12T13:07:47.367-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Future</title><content type='html'>One of my favorite new shows is &lt;span style="font-style: italic;"&gt;Flash Forward&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The premise of this show is that everyone passes out at the same time and has a glimpse of their future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am wondering, since they do have this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;privilege&lt;/span&gt;, can they do something to change it? They are fully aware of what they see, so in the course of time, should they do something to change that path?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If my future "flash" weren't favorable, I may do something to alter it, to make it more favorable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the same time however, I don't think I would do anything to alter my past. Yeah, maybe there are things that I could change. But should I? After all, everything that has happened in my past has made me the person that I am today. There were lessons learned and people that I met because of the course I took.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I may try and change the future, but I'm pretty happy with my past.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-7516354477714210189?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/7516354477714210189/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=7516354477714210189' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7516354477714210189'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7516354477714210189'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/10/future.html' title='The Future'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8077010589258678638</id><published>2009-10-07T15:27:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-07T15:37:01.779-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Halloween</title><content type='html'>Walking through the mall yesterday, I noticed the costume sales. This brought back memories of shopping for my Halloween costume as a child. I know that I dressed up every year (up until about the age of 12 or thirteen), but I really can't remember wearing any of the costumes. I do have vague recollections about how it felt to shop for costumes and sifting through the aisles to find something unique, but not wearing anything in particular.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is only one costume that I remember wearing for trick or treat. The costume  was a Slestak from Land of the Lost. My older cousin was a huge fan of the show. I remember going to the mall and and him suggesting to me to buy it. I vaguely remember watching the show on Saturday mornings with him. Since he had such an influence on me, I wore the costume. My younger brother also bought it. This one costume sticks out in my mind for some reason.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, whenever I go to a costume party or have to dress up, I go simple. Nothing that covers my face (my looks are horrifying enough). I usually just buy a cape and false teeth and do the vampire thing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8077010589258678638?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8077010589258678638/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8077010589258678638' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8077010589258678638'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8077010589258678638'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/10/halloween.html' title='Halloween'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5579186236720544789</id><published>2009-10-02T22:23:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-10-02T22:31:05.341-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Anything Fried Taste Better</title><content type='html'>I'm convinced that if you fry any type of food it taste better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the Travel Channel I was watching a show called Deep Fried Paradise...and it made my stomach do the good kind of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;somersaults&lt;/span&gt;, you know the kind that make you want to stuff your face.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They were showing different types of fried foods. They showed a restaurant that started out making fish and chips, but eventually was deep frying pizza!! How much yummier can you get than that? This restaurant is in New York, so when I go to visit my friend Mulan (this isn't her God given name, but I'm going to call her Mulan forever) this will be the first stop I make. And I'm getting a couple slices of the deep fried pizza.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that it's all bad for you. I know that I shouldn't be eating this kind of food. I know that it hinders my exercise routine. One day, I had some Chinese take-out and I was sluggish on my run. It took me almost 18 minutes to run a mile. 18 minutes!! But the thought of eating like this makes my mouth water. And so, just that once, when I go to visit Mulan, I'm going to eat a couple slices of deep fried pizza and top it all off with a deep fried twinkie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5579186236720544789?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5579186236720544789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5579186236720544789' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5579186236720544789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5579186236720544789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/10/anything-fried-taste-better.html' title='Anything Fried Taste Better'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1188689989785296727</id><published>2009-09-29T22:02:00.001-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-29T22:05:02.604-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Routine</title><content type='html'>Has anything become so routine to you? My drive from the gym to home or from work to home can happen in the blink of an eye. Or it can happen without eyes. I feel like I can drive with my eyes close.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know I've been gone for awhile. I always promise myself that I'll keep track of  my life, by writing my thoughts down here. And I forget. But I have vowed to myself that writing here will become something routine, something so common that I will do it with my eyes shut.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll be back later this week!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1188689989785296727?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1188689989785296727/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1188689989785296727' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1188689989785296727'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1188689989785296727'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/09/routine.html' title='Routine'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2102158659195507930</id><published>2009-09-09T23:00:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-09T23:05:35.442-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Douchebags</title><content type='html'>I am tired of hearing about the dude who has eight children and a pending divorce. And really, now he has no real life to speak of, except for the fact that he is always caught in a "what? look at all this" pose. Enough, this is all the blog space he'll get from me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So the new season of television is beginning and I'm a bit excited. More for reality shows than for anything else. Well except for The Big Bang Theory which cracks me up!! And The Office, which I love (and own all the seasons on DVD). Okay and of course How I Met Your Mother. So I do watch more television that I would like to admit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I should get a life...I've become a couch potato. Maybe I'm the douchebag.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2102158659195507930?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2102158659195507930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2102158659195507930' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2102158659195507930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2102158659195507930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/09/douchebags.html' title='Douchebags'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-312487484491367996</id><published>2009-09-03T14:32:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-09-03T14:35:25.033-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Save Money, Go Full</title><content type='html'>I recently went grocery shopping after having dinner with some of my buddies. I noticed that I didn't spend that much, didn't spend as much time gawking and deciding over junk food or the varieties of frozen pizza or even candy for that matter.  In fact, I got just the essentials--cereal, vegetables, milk and bread (really more than that, but these were the things that I was suppose to buy, or rather that were on my list).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So from now on, I'm going to go do my groceries after dinner.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-312487484491367996?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/312487484491367996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=312487484491367996' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/312487484491367996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/312487484491367996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/09/save-money-go-full.html' title='Save Money, Go Full'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1457830537390444621</id><published>2009-08-28T21:28:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-28T21:57:14.932-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Like Stone Soup</title><content type='html'>I was watching a cooking show a couple weeks ago where one of the challenges was to create a dish using vending machine purchases. I wondered what the frick one could create out of Andy Capp Hot Fries, beef jerky, peanuts and Butterfingers (can you tell what I buy from vending machines). So I watched as these "chefs" bought certain vending machine goodies (and by the way, I'm sure the producers stocked the vending machines with certain items of cookable flavor) and brainstormed their expertise about what could be created from MSG laden fried mish mash.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;However, what I didn't anticipate was the fact that these vending machine goodies were just going to be part of the recipe. They were also given meats, vegetables, seasoning, and other kitchen pantry items. In effect, the vending machine items were just going to be incorporated into a real dish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I automatically thought of the fairy tale about stone soup. Not sure if anyone is familiar with this story, but an old lady with a bare cupboard cons the other towns people into giving her all the ingredients for soup. She tells them that she could make a delicious meal out of water and a stone. While she stirs this concoction, she says things like "hmm, I need some carrots, I need some celery...." and these items were added to the pot by unsuspecting townspeople who scurried to find these indredients.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, these cooks started out with preserved mish mash, but then they added some meat, a vegetable, some seasoning...until they ending up with a five star plate of food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It didn't turn out to be the vending machine delicacy that I had imagined could have been created.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1457830537390444621?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1457830537390444621/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1457830537390444621' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1457830537390444621'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1457830537390444621'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/08/like-stone-soup.html' title='Like Stone Soup'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-3763176724377055865</id><published>2009-08-25T16:47:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-25T16:53:49.975-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Deep Crevices of My Mind</title><content type='html'>While flipping stations today, I was Rick Rolled. I couldn't believe my ears. I can't stand that song. But while I can't stand it, and it is still playing in my mind three hours later, I know some of the lyrics. I've never listened to the song in it's entirety, but yet those lyrics are bouncing between the left and right brain like a golf ball that has been dropped down a flight of stairs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is a lot of music that I know the lyrics to and yet I don't own the albums or even like the artists. I wouldn't be able to pick out the artists in a line up  and I've never listened to more than 5 to 10 seconds of any of these songs. And yet, there it is, those verses or lyrics which are buried deep within my memory, surfacing when I hear a snippet of the song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Does this happen to anyone else?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-3763176724377055865?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/3763176724377055865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=3763176724377055865' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3763176724377055865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3763176724377055865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/08/deep-crevices-of-my-mind.html' title='The Deep Crevices of My Mind'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2714629843608219789</id><published>2009-08-20T20:32:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T20:43:06.505-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Talk Into It</title><content type='html'>One of my friends recently got a new phone. And all he could do during lunchy was talk about it, while he was playing with it. I don't think our lunch time conversation could be considered a conversation. I basically ate by myself, while he texted and played with this gadget. Every now and then he would try  to show me the things that this phone can do. He suggested that I get one, that once I had one I wouldn't be able to live without it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just not that interested in things like this. For me a phone should be functional...I should be able to dial a number and reach my friend of choice. I should also be able to hear them and they should be able to hear me. And I do use the text option when I don't want to disturb someone. If they should so desire to have a conversation with me, they'll call back and if they would just rather keep it short, text me back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want my phone to double as a MP3 player...that would just drain the  battery and when I would need to use my phone as a phone, there would be no power left to place a call. Plus when I'm using my iPod, I'm running and would not want to drop/destroy my phone or be interrupted during my exercise regimen by a call.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So for me, a phone is just a gadget used to communicate with people, this is function enough for me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2714629843608219789?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2714629843608219789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2714629843608219789' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2714629843608219789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2714629843608219789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/08/just-talk-into-it.html' title='Just Talk Into It'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1923956648532753741</id><published>2009-08-16T17:39:00.000-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-16T17:44:59.036-04:00</updated><title type='text'>No Way To Go</title><content type='html'>While I was on the treadmill at the gym today, I saw an add for that movie Final Destiny (and it's coming at us in 3D). One of the clips showed a character getting sucked down to the bottom of a pool by a faulty drain. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Ugggh&lt;/span&gt;!! What a way to go. Just the thought of that happening made me panic a bit...and it was just the commercial and not 3D yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think that would be the worse way for me to go...drowning. Just running out of air would be the worse...any tortured way in which I couldn't breathe would be horrible. Being buried alive would be another way that I wouldn't want to go.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Reality is, I'm not ready to go yet. I still have so much left to do with my life. One of which is traveling!! I think I'm ready to venture to a far away village and just check it out, do a touristy thing (like pay way too much for a boat ride or pay triple the value for a t-shirt that shows I've marked territory somewhere else). And I still have some other stuff to do...the list is way to long to post here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I digress. Back to what I was writing about...the loss of air. Would not be able to go that way.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1923956648532753741?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1923956648532753741/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1923956648532753741' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1923956648532753741'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1923956648532753741'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/08/no-way-to-go.html' title='No Way To Go'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8432554669746901076</id><published>2009-08-05T12:39:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T12:43:41.016-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Stewing in Sweat</title><content type='html'>I've noticed something at the gym that more than gets on my nerves. After using certain machines, I always use the disinfecting spray to wipe my exertion excretions off the seats. Not all people do this. I think they feel it's okay for other people to pick up their nasty juices. It's unnerving, not to mention gross. So I feel like I should spray before and after. What is wrong with people?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the brighter side, I'm doing good!! Everything is going pretty well for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'll write more when I'm not so pissy about sitting in other people's filth.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8432554669746901076?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8432554669746901076/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8432554669746901076' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8432554669746901076'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8432554669746901076'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/08/stewing-in-sweat.html' title='Stewing in Sweat'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1715795755442750502</id><published>2009-07-19T18:43:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-19T18:47:15.787-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Topics of Conversation</title><content type='html'>I was walking behind some elementary aged kids the other day and they have some of the funnest conversations. There is no pretense to a child's topics of choice and everyone involved in the circle usually ends up agreeing or fascinated. And most of their conversations don't end up in heated debates in who is right or wrong.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The topic of this group was burping. It started when one kid said "I burp best when I drink soda. Not so much when I drink juice".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another kid piped in "that's because burps are made from bubbles. Soda has bubbles, juice doesn't".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another said, "I wonder if you shake the juice box hard enough if there will be bubbles".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yet another said "Let's try it someday".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Simple conversation. What happens when you grow up? Do you lose that simple view of life? Or do you just end up learning the truth behind the burps?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1715795755442750502?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1715795755442750502/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1715795755442750502' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1715795755442750502'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1715795755442750502'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/07/topics-of-conversation.html' title='Topics of Conversation'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-3636663494250772525</id><published>2009-07-10T15:18:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-10T15:27:48.540-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Real or Fake</title><content type='html'>Once again, I don't believe people should talk to loudly if they don't want others to rate their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;intelligence&lt;/span&gt;, or judge them as a person.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;While at the mall the other day, I was behind two college aged people. One was bitching about how &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;unprofessional&lt;/span&gt; they thought the last sales person was. She said something about being ignored and not waited on properly. The saleslady apparently didn't show her everything that could possibly have been available or look hard enough for clothing apparel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other person engaged in the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt; said something to the effect of the sales person needing to get a "real" job. She said that the sales person was probably pissed at life because she didn't have a real job or have "real" goals?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was taken aback at how idiotic this &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt; sounded and could not wait to get off the elevator. I purposely got off on a different floor because had I heard anymore I probably would have gone off. Who are they to judge anyone who is working? Granted, I don't know the whole story. Maybe the salesperson was rude or not catering or living by the rule "the customer is always right". But for them to say that &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;someone's&lt;/span&gt; job isn't real, is a bit &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5"&gt;condescending&lt;/span&gt;.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I the only one who sees the idiocy of their &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6"&gt;conversation&lt;/span&gt;?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-3636663494250772525?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/3636663494250772525/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=3636663494250772525' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3636663494250772525'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3636663494250772525'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/07/real-or-fake.html' title='Real or Fake'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-7346200093476810811</id><published>2009-07-02T18:04:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-07-02T18:08:33.042-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Rest In Peace</title><content type='html'>I think it's sad that the media has given no time for Michael Jackson's family to grieve. And do we as a public really have a right to know what was in his will, what his autopsy will show, and the fate of his children? It's one thing to be a celebrity and be in the public eye, it's another thing to have even the most private moments make headline news.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't know MJ has anyone but a musician. And for the most part, I think it should have been kept that way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe it's time we let his family grieve for a man who was more than just a celebrity. For them he was Michael, a son, a brother, a friend, and a father.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-7346200093476810811?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/7346200093476810811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=7346200093476810811' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7346200093476810811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7346200093476810811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/07/rest-in-peace.html' title='Rest In Peace'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5273938021291101760</id><published>2009-06-29T12:24:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-29T12:29:25.978-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Talking Loudly</title><content type='html'>People don't realize how loudly they talk at times. They ramble on during breakfast, lunch, dinner or coffee breaks about their lives and then wonder why strangers, co-workers, or an acquaintance knows so much about them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I never understood why one had to vent about certain topics in public. When I was younger, I thought most of these people were just bragging. Now I just think it's stupidity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you don't want people to know your private situations, don't vent at the water cooler. Better yet, keep your private life, private.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5273938021291101760?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5273938021291101760/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5273938021291101760' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5273938021291101760'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5273938021291101760'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/06/talking-loudly.html' title='Talking Loudly'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6571250786429690859</id><published>2009-06-25T11:30:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-25T11:34:17.949-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Absent</title><content type='html'>Yeah, yeah, I know I've been absent. No good excuse. I have had plenty of things to write about and I haven't been that busy. I don't know what happened. Every time I got fodder for the blog and was intent on writing it down, I just never did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Truth of the matter is...nice weather makes me lazy. Bad weather bores me enough to sit down in front of the laptop. And today is horrible rainy weather, so I'm sitting down in front of the laptop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was suppose to go running today, but it's raining. And not only is it it raining but the clouds are ringing themselves out up there. It honestly sounds like someone is pouring a bucket of water over my home. It's coming down fast and furious. No thunder yet. No lighting, just a torrential down pour.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I guess it's the use of the treadmill for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And of course, my popping in to breathe some life into this blog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6571250786429690859?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6571250786429690859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6571250786429690859' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6571250786429690859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6571250786429690859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/06/absent.html' title='Absent'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2999899632317808088</id><published>2009-06-12T11:44:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T11:44:57.516-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Movies</title><content type='html'>The only thing I can say right now is go see "The Hangover".&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2999899632317808088?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2999899632317808088/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2999899632317808088' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2999899632317808088'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2999899632317808088'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/06/movies.html' title='Movies'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1146178277739609841</id><published>2009-05-25T16:05:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-25T16:12:22.051-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Does It Really Matter Anymore</title><content type='html'>I've been watching television and noticed that almost all the shows that are left are reality based. By reality I mean sort of scripted, sort of clipped, edited until it is somewhat exciting. I have to admit I am a fan of some of these, or maybe it is because I can't help but wonder what these pseudo celebrities will do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For instance, why is the Bachelor or it's spawn The &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Bachelorette&lt;/span&gt; still on? We all know that it NEVER works out. It NEVER works out. I think it only worked out once. And then these celebs go on to do other things, like the talk circuit or charity photo opportunities for People Magazine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just saw a clip and yes I was curious for the &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Bachelorette&lt;/span&gt;. One of the potential men stripped down and jumped into a pool. Why he stripped down in front of 19 other men and one woman is beyond me. I don't think that will give him a leg up, or maybe it will. But he may have forgotten about shrinkage caused by chlorinated cold pool water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I'm going to get back to reading. I am re-reading Harry Potter and The Half Blood Prince because I'm taking my nephews and nieces to see the movie this summer. I don't want to be caught off-guard by any questions these little ones will have. I have to at least appear to be cool.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1146178277739609841?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1146178277739609841/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1146178277739609841' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1146178277739609841'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1146178277739609841'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/05/does-it-really-matter-anymore.html' title='Does It Really Matter Anymore'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8322009267065609043</id><published>2009-05-12T15:19:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-12T15:21:03.823-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Put The Phone Down</title><content type='html'>Lately there have been a lot of news stories about texting and accidents. Why would you try to write a text (where even sitting still and closely to the phone) on screen no bigger than the back of your hand? And what is so important that you need to send a message to anyone NOW.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, just put the phone down and wait. Enough is enough. It's bad enough that we have accidents due to drunk drivers, but now just plain stupidity?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8322009267065609043?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8322009267065609043/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8322009267065609043' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8322009267065609043'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8322009267065609043'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/05/put-phone-down.html' title='Put The Phone Down'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5543650558854021738</id><published>2009-05-04T12:19:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-05-04T12:23:56.865-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Pollen</title><content type='html'>The painful return of budding flowers, plants, trees, etc....I'm not saying that it isn't wanted. It's actually beautiful. Spring, a new awakening, a new arrival, the start of something good!! However, it ushers in pollen. And a stuffy nose, itchy eyes and constant sneezing...are the exact reason I don't like pollen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because of the new pandemic, everytime I sneeze (and it's due to my body's reaction to pollen), people take four steps backwards. At church on Sunday, someone just smiled and nodded their head when I stuck my hand out for handshaking during the peace ceremony. I can understand their hesitance, after all, there is not really a distiction between a flu sneeze and an allergy sneeze. I can sometimes tell, but for the most part, not really.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm suffering with congestion, drippy snot and itchy eyes. And nothing I have taken has worked yet.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5543650558854021738?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5543650558854021738/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5543650558854021738' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5543650558854021738'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5543650558854021738'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/05/pollen.html' title='Pollen'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5864928143006717236</id><published>2009-04-20T13:42:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T13:45:52.714-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Shushed By A Five Year Old</title><content type='html'>This weekend I took my five year old nephew to see "Monsters Vs Aliens". Very good movie, very well done and with all the good moral lessons in all the right places. And the 3D, which I love, was awesome. I'm always intrigued by the magic of cinema.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;During the movie, I asked my nephew if he needed anything. Without taking his eyes off the screen he said "Shhh". So I repeated the question "Do you need anything, have to go to the bathroom". He said "if I need something, I will tell you...shhh".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm, I was making too much noise for a five year old.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5864928143006717236?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5864928143006717236/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5864928143006717236' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5864928143006717236'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5864928143006717236'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/04/shushed-by-five-year-old.html' title='Shushed By A Five Year Old'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1871856032883710547</id><published>2009-04-05T12:21:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2009-04-05T12:30:17.800-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Music</title><content type='html'>So I've been running/jogging/walking for about two weeks now. I would not call myself a runner just yet. My routine usually goes something like this...I run for a mile, then walk for half a mile, run for another half mile, then walk for half a mile, then run for another half mile or mile. So I'm not consistent, but I'm not at breathless as I was two weeks ago.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've run before. But before I did it to lose weight, now I'm doing it to get into shape (yeah lose some poundage) but I also like it this time. I feel great after a run and I'm actually truly enjoying it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now here's the problem....music. I run with my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;iPod&lt;/span&gt;. But my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;iPod&lt;/span&gt; is a true mess. I've got so many different genres in this mini storage unit that placing it on scramble just ends up having too much variety. I'll go from listening to something face paced to classical music. So this breaks my pace.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now here's what I need from you....helpful suggestions for running music. I've bought one of those card things for music. Help me create a &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;play list&lt;/span&gt; for running. Suggest some good running/jogging/music.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1871856032883710547?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1871856032883710547/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1871856032883710547' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1871856032883710547'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1871856032883710547'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/04/music.html' title='Music'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8939349742420812707</id><published>2009-03-19T14:27:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2009-03-19T14:33:19.477-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Wow, It's Been Awhile</title><content type='html'>Wow, it's been awhile. And it's isn't like I wanted to be away. It's just that there is nothing in my life to write about. Not that there was something to write about before, but right now my life is extremely boring. I'm talking extremely boring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think right now all I have is work, hanging out with friends and my reality shows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone suggest a hobby. I'm thinking of taking up running. except that someone told me that is pretty boring unless you have a kick ass iPod music selection. My iPod is all over the place. I have everything from pop to R&amp;amp;B to rap to adult contemporary to country. I even have a children's song in there--which my nephew asked me to add so he could sometimes borrow my iPod (he was three at the time). So sometimes listening to it on shuffle, throws me off for a curve.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think yeah, I may take up running. But I'll start tomorrow. I still need a nap today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8939349742420812707?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8939349742420812707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8939349742420812707' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8939349742420812707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8939349742420812707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/03/wow-its-been-awhile.html' title='Wow, It&apos;s Been Awhile'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8901376960825658031</id><published>2009-03-07T15:56:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-07T16:06:19.479-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Personal Space</title><content type='html'>I meant to write about this topic awhile ago, but just forgot and found a notepad that had some blog topics written on it. This was one of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do have my own personal space. I know that in certain situations invasion of this space can't be helped. I know that it will get invaded in crowded areas. Once when riding the subway in New York, not only was it invaded but attacked and defeated (not physically, but by another passener's body odor).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My personal space is just something that I keep. Once I am comfortable with a person, I don't mind that they occasionally picnic there and can even vacation there. However, I don't know why some people chose to invade this space.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In particular, and I am remembering the reason that I wrote this down on the notepad in the first place, personal space should always be observed in the bathroom. Now my space isn't a mansion in square footage, it's only a few inches in diameter. But the incident I'm referring to is one in which I went to urinal in a bathroom and picked one on the far end of the line. The bathroom was empty, but since the movie was over, I knew would fill fast. I was the first in the bathroom and like I said picked the far end urinal. The next gentlemen that came in next (and there were still about eight urinals plus five stalls left) took the urinal right smacking next to mine. I was like WTF?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't wait around to find out why. Just did my business and left.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who does that? I always take one the furthest away from the next bathroom goer? Or is it just me? Am I paranoid and bitching for no reason? Maybe my personal space is much larger than I thought.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8901376960825658031?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8901376960825658031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8901376960825658031' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8901376960825658031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8901376960825658031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/03/personal-space.html' title='Personal Space'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-7978138805571057836</id><published>2009-03-04T10:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-04T10:35:28.026-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Buy A Birthday Gift</title><content type='html'>And that is what my phone's memo is reminding me to do for today.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like buying birthday gifts. For the most part it's fun to look for that gift for someone. It may be the only time that I like to shop. Goodness knows that when it comes to myself, I already know what I want before I venture out. I don't do the window shopping thing. What good is that? It has no real value right and is it really an activity? I don't really like walking around the mall aimlessly, hoping to find that bargain. Like I said, for the most part, I already know what I want, so I head directly to the particular store carrying the item and purchase.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When it comes to finding a gift for someone else, that is a different story. I make an assessment of what I think they might like (while driving or whenever this phone makes the "ding" reminding sound). And then I walk around the mall trying to find this particular item.  It's probably the only time that I will shop aimlessly, but purchasing for other people is more fun, at least I have fun shopping for someone else.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-7978138805571057836?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/7978138805571057836/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=7978138805571057836' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7978138805571057836'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7978138805571057836'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/03/buy-birthday-gift.html' title='Buy A Birthday Gift'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2878785132471568889</id><published>2009-02-27T16:36:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-27T16:41:43.785-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Haircuts</title><content type='html'>I said I would post about my schedule or anything that popped up with my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Treo&lt;/span&gt; appointments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And today it popped up get a haircut. And although it is necessary to get one, I hate going to get it done. The guy always asks me how I want it done. I don't know how to describe a haircut. I usually end up having to say make it look like that (and I am pointing to one of the many posed models on the posters). If I can't find a model that looks like I want it done, then I have to mention a familiar actor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last time I was in there, the guy sitting next to me had very specific directions on how he wanted his hair cut. This much off here, that much off there, layer it here and take a little off the top. Yes, I was listening, just in case--because if his came out looking the way I would want mine to look, then I could just say the same stuff he was saying the next time I was there. His hair did come out looking good, but I didn't write down all his directions in correct order. Also I wasn't watching where his fingers were pointing as he gave the directions. So I'm sure if I gave the directions as I remembered them, I would wind up looking like I lost a fight with scissors.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is what I'm doing later on today...I'm getting my hair cut.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2878785132471568889?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2878785132471568889/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2878785132471568889' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2878785132471568889'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2878785132471568889'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/02/haircuts.html' title='Haircuts'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1856015199896965916</id><published>2009-02-22T14:05:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-22T14:11:51.846-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Posting</title><content type='html'>I really do want to post more often...and like the &lt;a href="http://takeoftheday.blogspot.com/"&gt;Duck&lt;/a&gt;, I really do want to write a post. However, I lack imagination or even good daily happenings. So is the life of someone who doesn't have a life. In fact, I think sometimes the reason I play video games is to pretend I have a life. The Sims games offer me a life--except that I don't get to woo-hoo whenever I please, or wherever I please. But even the Sims can get boring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I'm going to just write about anything that is in my Treo's to do. And today my to do is to have dinner with my friends. We're going to have a steak dinner. Yes, I know that red meat isn't healthy eating, but there are moments when I crave it like there is no tomorrow. I think I will also want a beer with it, but that is still to be decided. The movie? Well we let Sue pick and her pick is that chick flick about shopping. So I'm going to bury myself in a bucket of buttered popcorn and pray for daylight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Until the next time my Treo dings with a TO DO happening....have a great Sunday.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1856015199896965916?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1856015199896965916/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1856015199896965916' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1856015199896965916'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1856015199896965916'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/02/posting.html' title='Posting'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6985685109002211534</id><published>2009-02-06T18:11:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-02-06T18:23:02.259-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pictures, Pictures, Pictures</title><content type='html'>So these pictures of a golden boy swimmer surfaced...and everyone is making a big deal that he let so many people down. Yeah, he's a role model.  But I think he was right when he said that he would have a hard time explaining them to his mother. How do you explain something like that to your parents? Those are the people that you probably really let down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Personally I think that something like this makes him less superman and more human. I think however, we need to let the publicity go away. Sometimes the paparazzi makes more of a big deal than there is....and really, who was the "friends" that sold him out? Who gave that picture from the party away?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know. I guess because he has celebrity status, he has to watch what he does, what he says, and when he does. I don't believe that anyone should be subject to being watched 24/7, but it's probably the price you pay for being in the limelight.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just like that chick that made "goofy" faces for a photo, who suddenly was accused of making fun of certain ethnic groups. I haven't seen the photo, but I'm sure it can't be that bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I left names out so that when people googled the celebrity's names the wouldn't end up on my senseless ramblings.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6985685109002211534?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6985685109002211534/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6985685109002211534' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6985685109002211534'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6985685109002211534'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/02/pictures-pictures-pictures.html' title='Pictures, Pictures, Pictures'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1014427913974874723</id><published>2009-01-29T13:38:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T13:42:02.312-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm Getting Old</title><content type='html'>One of my friends twisted, well didn't twist so much as suggest that we go and watch a movie last week. The movie the group ultimately chose was "Twilight". I thought that maybe I would like it since so many people seem to be glued to these books and there were rave reviews.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't enjoy it. Maybe it just wasn't for me. I was bored fifteen minutes into the film, during it, and the last fifteen minutes of it. Maybe I'm just getting old. Maybe I'm just a boring person. I don't know. But I didn't like it. The rest of the crew (mostly women) loved it. They thought the main character was good looking. They liked the love story. The liked the story in general.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That's just my two cents...and I know it isn't worth much.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1014427913974874723?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1014427913974874723/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1014427913974874723' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1014427913974874723'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1014427913974874723'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/01/im-getting-old.html' title='I&apos;m Getting Old'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2185985875536797541</id><published>2009-01-24T13:14:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-24T13:20:06.458-05:00</updated><title type='text'>All This Energy</title><content type='html'>I'm watching the Gasquet vs Gonzales match of the Australian Open...and between the energy/enthusiasm of the players and the crowd, I'm feeling very energized. But I've no where to go with it. It's pretty cold outside and everyone I have called does not want to, or have the time to play some tennis.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a Gasquet fan...and when he injured his toe earlier in this set I thought that was it, it was over. But he's holding on. When he couldn't chase some of the balls earlier and Gonzales was pumping his fist, I thought to myself, how could you be proud of a victory by default/injury. But I guess a win is a win no matter how you got it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm losing my train of thought because I'm writing between commericals and when they switch over to Nadal vs Haas. So I'm just going to stop writing now because I'm not sure why I was writing this post in the first place.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2185985875536797541?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2185985875536797541/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2185985875536797541' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2185985875536797541'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2185985875536797541'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/01/all-this-energy.html' title='All This Energy'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-3778523551426459328</id><published>2009-01-19T16:48:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T16:52:49.237-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What Is Wrong With People</title><content type='html'>Today while getting some gas for my car, I watched in horror as the lady who parked beside my area of the station get out while smoking a cigarette. All I could think about was hurrying to finish and leaving. She actually continued to take a few more puffs before tossing the cigarette into the distant street (thank goodness no wind to blow it back).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, what is wrong with people? Do they really need the nicotine that badly or is their craving so deep that they lose mental capability?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The worse crime I think is when I see parents smoking in a car while their children/infants sit in the backseat. And to top that off, they don't roll the windows down because it's either winter or summer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know that smokers have certain rights. But what about safety and consideration for non-smokers?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-3778523551426459328?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/3778523551426459328/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=3778523551426459328' title='10 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3778523551426459328'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3778523551426459328'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/01/what-is-wrong-with-people.html' title='What Is Wrong With People'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>10</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1972806083410021538</id><published>2009-01-15T13:05:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T13:18:50.478-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Why Hackers?</title><content type='html'>Because &lt;a href="http://aaronmelton.com/"&gt;Aaron&lt;/a&gt; asked me to update my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;blogroll&lt;/span&gt;, it was brought to my attention that temporarily, I can't. They are working out some issues they are having. So for now, my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;blogroll&lt;/span&gt; remains the same as it has for a couple months.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you would like to know why, just click on &lt;em&gt;Powered by &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;blogrolling&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/em&gt;at the bottom of my blog links list. The people at the site keep everyone updated on the status of our ability to update, edit, and whatever else people do to their blog roll.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On a different note, while I write this I am watching television (yes, I can multi-task with some projects). There is an interview with some famous person. This person is chewing gum and I now realize how odd/strange talking to someone who is chewing gum can be. Maybe it's the way she is chewing, but I am quite annoyed. I changed the channel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In another interview, another famous person (I am not placing their names so my site isn't hit by random searches) said that her biggest pet peeve was people who chew gum. I think I may agree. I guess it may be okay for some occasions. It isn't okay if you are speaking publicly or in a formal interview.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1972806083410021538?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1972806083410021538/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1972806083410021538' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1972806083410021538'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1972806083410021538'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/01/why-hackers.html' title='Why Hackers?'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5908046938819470015</id><published>2009-01-13T12:48:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-13T12:58:01.665-05:00</updated><title type='text'>E-Readers</title><content type='html'>I was browsing in a bookstore yesterday and on display was this e-reader device. I was rather fascinated because this little handheld device (about the size of a trade book) could hold hundreds of books. If you are like me, you are reading several books at the same time. For me I'm reading a medical book, an autobiography about our incoming president and a fun novel. So lugging these all around in my messenger bag can get heavy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know, it's an electronic device and there is a correlation between testosterone and electronics. But it really is a fascinating device. Does anyone have this? Is it really that convenient, or will it just gather dust on my shelf after the novelty wears off?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The sales person even used the pitch that having this would be part of the "green" movement. Yeah, it will spare some trees. But there is a part of me that also wants to be able to hold the book too, have a tangible library. And is this the movement of the future? Are we going to be able to borrow books on-line?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm going to wait it out...to see if I still want it in a few weeks. It is affordable...but I'm making myself wait and not do an impulse buy. Plus there are a few video games I would like to buy instead.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5908046938819470015?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5908046938819470015/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5908046938819470015' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5908046938819470015'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5908046938819470015'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/01/e-readers.html' title='E-Readers'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-3116756017894892511</id><published>2009-01-11T17:18:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-01-11T17:25:09.783-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Um, Hello!</title><content type='html'>Hi guys....I've been a really bad blogger lately and it took &lt;a href="http://spinsterwardiaries.blogspot.com/"&gt;Lindsey&lt;/a&gt; to point that out. Not that she did it in a mean or pushy way, but she reminded me to update.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't been busy. I haven't actually been anything lately. Well lazy. That's the ticket, I've been lazy. I do have a lot to write about. I actually intended to write about some of the holiday mishaps and funny happenings. But by the time I got to my laptop, I had either had too much wine...or my cell phone rang....or I had forgotten what I was going to post about. Take your pick. All of them simultaneously happened on numerous occasions during the course of my absence.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I'm glad that the holidays are over. The Office will be up and running soon with new episodes. Also Life On Mars, which I somehow gotten attached to will be back. It was hard to follow at first, but once I started following, it was like the electric slide, you kinda knew where to go next (what the heck was that comparison---and I'm not drinking any wine right now).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hope you guys had a happy holiday...and I will be easier to track in 09!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-3116756017894892511?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/3116756017894892511/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=3116756017894892511' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3116756017894892511'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3116756017894892511'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2009/01/um-hello.html' title='Um, Hello!'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-3431066715551132978</id><published>2008-12-19T11:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-19T11:51:31.210-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Happy Holidays</title><content type='html'>I just wanted to take this opportunity to wish everyone a happy holiday!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just heard one of my favorite Christmas songs. It's "The Little Drummer Boy" by Bing Crosby and David Bowie. I remember this Christmas special (the show) from childhood. I always felt bad that this little boy didn't have any presents to give the baby Jesus. The character always looked cold in his worn rags and shorts. I also remember my father explaining to me that this small child gave his all and that was his present.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here's to giving your all now and through the next year.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-3431066715551132978?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/3431066715551132978/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=3431066715551132978' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3431066715551132978'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3431066715551132978'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/12/happy-holidays.html' title='Happy Holidays'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8558984618221269147</id><published>2008-12-09T02:14:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T02:18:37.727-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Is Here</title><content type='html'>Christmas is here...but I'm too exhausted to notice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have wanted to put up the Christmas decorations, but I am too tired to go up into the attic to look for the decorations, even though I put them up there and know exactly where they are. I want to be all full of Christmas spirit, but I'm tired.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do get excited though when I shop for my nephews and nieces. It's only those moments when I get energized and really want to go all out. I can't wait to see the look on their faces when I give them their gifts, or when I sit down and have the midnight dinner with my family. I also can't wait for Christmas mass. I love the homily, sermon and choir.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm getting a little energy writing this post, about not having energy. So maybe when I get home from work tomorrow, I'll start bringing down those boxes of lights and ornaments.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8558984618221269147?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8558984618221269147/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8558984618221269147' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8558984618221269147'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8558984618221269147'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/12/christmas-is-here.html' title='Christmas Is Here'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-9171570478487724209</id><published>2008-11-28T13:20:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-28T13:29:44.254-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Never Grow Up</title><content type='html'>My favorite movie as a youngster and probably even today is Peter Pan. I liked Pirates. I liked the fact that they could &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;fly&lt;/span&gt;. The movie had Indians, crocodiles and a hide-out for the lost boys. It probably incorporated all the different fantasies that any child could have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today, while my brother and sister-in-law braved the malls to buy their youngsters Christmas presents, I volunteered to babysit. My three year old nephew searched through a DVD collection and picked out the movie Peter Pan and of course I obliged.  He had already watched it several times and could repeat some of the lines. Still, his eyes would grow in wonder at Peter Pan's ability to fly, the pirate and Indian scenes, and the swashbuckling sword fights.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When his five year old sister teared up at Tinkerbell's brief demise, he stared at her and wondered why she was so sad. He clasped her hand and whispered "she comes back".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The first time I saw Peter Pan, I was about three years old. I am pretty sure it was at Radio City Music Hall. My father was working in a hospital in New Jersey and we often made the trek to New York City to watch shows. I loved the show from the start to finish. I ended up getting several story books, coloring books and even bed sheets.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yes, my nephew is right on many levels. Stories like this do come back, or rather, they never leave.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-9171570478487724209?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/9171570478487724209/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=9171570478487724209' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/9171570478487724209'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/9171570478487724209'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/11/never-grow-up.html' title='Never Grow Up'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-702717690162359228</id><published>2008-11-22T13:08:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-22T13:17:15.103-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Funny Shaped Ears</title><content type='html'>I've become more and more frustrated with the earphones of my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;iPod&lt;/span&gt;. They seem to sit funny in my ears, or maybe I'm not wearing them right. In the commercials, the people wearing them seem to be able to move, dance, spin, hop, skip and jump without the buds falling out. Whenever I use mine, I am constantly arranging them so that they stay in my ears. Maybe my ears have some birth defect that others don't seem to have.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've really never heard any other complaints to the earphones. And in defense of these earphones, they have quality sound. I also don't know how to pick out other earphones. Plus I am a one-stop shopper. I like everything to come in one box...I think that is the way things should work. I wish I could be like my father (or rather afford the things that he can)--he uses Bose earphones with his &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;iPod&lt;/span&gt; and iPhone. But I don't have the money and really I don't like shopping all that much. I'm the guy that goes to the Gap, J Crew or Ralph Lauren--where everything can mix and match. Like I said, everything should come in one box. &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Maybe&lt;/span&gt; I'm just lazy. But I really do despise shopping.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So my dilemma is...exercise without music, or continually readjust these earphones to stay in my ears. I know the simple answer is to go out and buy a new pair of earphones (but I'm not that good at selection and I hate asking for directions/advice from salesmen). Maybe I'll ask for a new pair of earphones for Christmas.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-702717690162359228?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/702717690162359228/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=702717690162359228' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/702717690162359228'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/702717690162359228'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/11/funny-shaped-ears.html' title='Funny Shaped Ears'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-6047189825180907802</id><published>2008-11-18T12:30:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T12:35:27.084-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Holiday Season</title><content type='html'>We haven't even celebrated &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;Thanksgiving&lt;/span&gt; yet, but already some of the radio stations are playing Christmas music.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't mind Christmas music, in fact I like it. But there is a radio station that is now playing it 24 hours a day, every day until the day after Christmas music. Yes, I will admit that early in the morning I will listen to it, but still it's a little early.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now everyone is talking about black Friday...a day of complete shopping madness. I would not like to go out on that day, no matter what the sales.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still want to celebrate Thanksgiving first...and have that fried turkey that my brother-in-law always makes.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-6047189825180907802?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/6047189825180907802/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=6047189825180907802' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6047189825180907802'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/6047189825180907802'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/11/holiday-season.html' title='Holiday Season'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-3559082400636598188</id><published>2008-11-10T17:26:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T17:32:44.612-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Busy</title><content type='html'>I've been so busy lately, that I've basically eaten all my meals out or from a drive-&lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;thru&lt;/span&gt;. So a majority of my salary has gone to tips.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The other day I was eating in a restaurant and I probably had the worse service I have ever had. The waitress never asked me if I wanted a refill on my drink (I had to flag her down three times to ask). She didn't refill the bread basket (no biggie, not a big fan of rolls anyway). Lastly, she only stopped at my table to take my order and drop off the bill. The couple in the table beside mine were also frustrated. The lady had to ask for coffee refills and also ask for sugar (twice).&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When the waitress came to my table to drop off my bill, I counted out the exact change for it. I was determined not to leave a tip. However, when I looked up at her face, I could see that she was tired, worn and probably had a bad day. I told her I needed just a second before I would pay. When she left the table, I calculated 20% and then flagged her down to take the bill. I told her I wouldn't be needing any change and smiled.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Because I was so busy myself, I had forgotten that other people could also be pulled in different directions, have a bad day or just fall behind. I hope that she's caught up and maybe having a better day today.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-3559082400636598188?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/3559082400636598188/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=3559082400636598188' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3559082400636598188'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/3559082400636598188'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/11/busy.html' title='Busy'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5733843067105469959</id><published>2008-10-31T00:38:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T00:48:01.116-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Trick or Treat...Smell My Feet</title><content type='html'>I always love Halloween, more importantly I love having the excuse to buy all that candy (and extra so there is left-overs because nothing beats mixing Reese Peanut Butter Cups with vanilla ice cream--my last post had ice cream in it, didn't it). I always buy the mix that has the cups, Butterfingers and the likes of those candy bars. I also buy some sort of mix that has M&amp;amp;Ms too. And just case I buy gum....&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, it's fun to see everyone all dressed up. There was one family tonight, where everyone was dressed as The Incredibles (parent's included). Fun.... everyone should get in on the fun for Halloween.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Am I being a bit prudish when I sometimes get annoyed that some older high school kids are going around with grocery bags trick or treating? It wouldn't be so bad if they were dressed up in some sort of costume, but there were several tonight that were not and still held pillow cases up asking for candy. One guy even had the nerve to say "yo, you gave that kid a handful and you are handing me one chocolate bar"? In my mind I said back "yo...that kid was five, said 'trick or treat' and then used his please and thank yous". But in reality I said, "Oh I'm sorry and handed and handful of chocolate to him instead".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, am I being a Scrooge for thinking this way? I'm not trying to take the fun out of the celebration, but if you are going to join in, at least have the courtesy to courteous.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm getting old, aren't I? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Happy Halloween everyone!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5733843067105469959?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5733843067105469959/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5733843067105469959' title='12 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5733843067105469959'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5733843067105469959'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/10/trick-or-treatsmell-my-feet.html' title='Trick or Treat...Smell My Feet'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>12</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-7867898488124471835</id><published>2008-10-09T16:43:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-09T16:48:48.315-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It Sounded Good</title><content type='html'>First of all thank goodness for TiVo. What would I have ever done without it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I was watching an episode of Entourage and decided to have a beer with it. It was The Tree Tripper episode. Pretty good mix right? Great television and a Blue Moon beer. Did I mention how awesome this show is?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, after I was done with the beer, I was craving something sweet...all I had that was sweet was those Swedish Fish gummy things and French Vanilla Ice Cream (wow just realized the international of those two choices). I decided to have the ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About ten minutes after I had finished the ice cream, my stomach felt funny. Not hurling chunks funny, but weird digestion issues funny.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know it wasn't the show...although it does make me laugh hysterically. It was the combination of beer and ice cream. So I realized that Entourage=good, always good. Beer=good and ice cream=good. But beer+ice cream=belly ache.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-7867898488124471835?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/7867898488124471835/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=7867898488124471835' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7867898488124471835'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/7867898488124471835'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/10/it-sounded-good.html' title='It Sounded Good'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-1329528222738501389</id><published>2008-10-01T00:20:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-10-01T00:23:03.967-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Such a Shock</title><content type='html'>Why is it when a phone in reality show has someone they gave props to booted off the show, it's a shocker? HELLO! You are allowing the public to vote for someone to stay. There are times that I believe a majority of people vote for the worse, just to see how far they can keep a sucky constestant going. So tonight, when Kim got booted off the dancing show (I didn't watch, just saw the headlines when I checked my mail) I wasn't shocked.  I just thought, she didn't get enough votes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing about reality television shocks me anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-1329528222738501389?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/1329528222738501389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=1329528222738501389' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1329528222738501389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/1329528222738501389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/10/such-shock.html' title='Such a Shock'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-4760881941549665551</id><published>2008-09-20T13:56:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-20T14:00:09.306-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Beer For Football Fans</title><content type='html'>So after watching the last Mountaineer football game, my nerves are shot. I know they are doing the best that they can and that it's just the way the "cookie crumbles". And I'm still a completely loyal Mountaineer fan...always will be.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I completely understand why beer or some sort of liquor is an absolute essential for any sporting event (especially for the fans...not so much for the players). I think if I hadn't had anything, my nerves would have been worn raw. The game was good, but I think would have been better had the Mountaineers won. It's always better when they win.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next day, some of my friends were still a little edgy concerning the final outcome.  Me? I'm looking forward to the next game.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-4760881941549665551?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/4760881941549665551/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=4760881941549665551' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/4760881941549665551'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/4760881941549665551'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/09/beer-for-football-fans.html' title='Beer For Football Fans'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8573462011396422019</id><published>2008-09-08T12:20:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-08T12:27:44.692-04:00</updated><title type='text'>The Spice Thief</title><content type='html'>I am not sure if I heard this right. I was reading something...but in the background CNN is on and they talked about a bizarre thief, who broke into someone's home armed with a sausage and a spice rack. The home owners woke up to the thief spicing them and then wacking them with the sausage before taking off with their money.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What? It sounds more like something from a bad SNL skit or from fetish porn. Maybe I was not listening correctly or zoning out. Did anyone else hear this? And what are the more bizarre clips of news you've heard lately.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8573462011396422019?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8573462011396422019/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8573462011396422019' title='13 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8573462011396422019'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8573462011396422019'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/09/spice-thief.html' title='The Spice Thief'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>13</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2440380215307537073</id><published>2008-09-03T12:54:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-09-03T13:01:37.217-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Still Hungover</title><content type='html'>I think I had one of the best times I have had in a long time this weekend at my &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;relative's&lt;/span&gt; wedding. This much conversation gives new meaning to the saying "diarrhea of the mouth". And we talked about everything from politics to topics that meant nothing to anyone but me and the other person involved.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And a key essential to all this laughing was the open bar both at the wedding and at the breakfast/brunch/dinner reception the next day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One topic that came up several times was "who is this wedding gig actually for". I know my relatives spent tons of money on this gig. There was an amazing DJ--that was more entertaining than annoying. He kept a full dance floor for most of the night. The food from the appetizers (six tables of different appetizers) to the main course (your choice of three different entrees, or you could have all three if desired) was awesome. But really, when I looked up and saw the bride and groom, I don't think they had time to enjoy any of this. Between making sure that everyone was having a good time and greeting the more than 250 guests, they looked stressed. I don't think I saw them eat once. The groom did join us for some shots between smiling at the camera and going from table to table to say "thanks for coming". For the most part, he didn't really get to do much else. So mainly exuberant amounts of money was spent to make us have a good time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway congrats to my cousin and his new bride!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2440380215307537073?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2440380215307537073/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2440380215307537073' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2440380215307537073'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2440380215307537073'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/09/still-hungover.html' title='Still Hungover'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-9149287637656888902</id><published>2008-08-25T22:51:00.005-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-25T23:03:58.111-04:00</updated><title type='text'>It's About Hope</title><content type='html'>During the closing ceremonies of the Olympics, one of the commentators said that one of the important feelings he got from these events was it was about hope.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And yes, I think he was right (or what it she). I heard the comment while I was watching the amazing show that was presented by the host country, so I heard it, but couldn't remember who said and the exact statement that was made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I believe that I get hooked by the Olympics, not only for the competition, but because I feel unity while I sit with my buddies cheering for the same person/team. It's the same reason that I love watching football or basketball games with my friends. There is a certain &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;camaraderie&lt;/span&gt; that is felt when you watch your team either rise to the occasion, or submit gracefully to defeat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There is also the re-awakening of certain dreams with the realization that with hard work, determination and a little sweat, these dreams will come true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-9149287637656888902?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/9149287637656888902/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=9149287637656888902' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/9149287637656888902'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/9149287637656888902'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/08/its-about-hope.html' title='It&apos;s About Hope'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-5702371417175397423</id><published>2008-08-19T12:47:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-19T12:58:53.330-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Boys Are Made of....</title><content type='html'>My brother's youngest son, only 2 1/2 years old is obsessed with Spiderman. Anything that has webs, is colored red, black and blue, or remotely looks associated to Spiderman entrances him. He can sit still to watch any of the movies--the cartoons don't hold his attention as much. He has a Build-A-Bear stuffed animal (which I got him) that wears a small Spiderman costume. He still prefers the Build-A-Bear bunny that he's had since birth to sleep with or when he's cranky, tired or in a bad mood, but the Spiderman one accompanies him during the rest of his waking moments.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't remember having an obsession when I was younger. I do remember loving sharks. As afraid as I was of the ocean because of the thought of being eaten, sharks fascinated me. I would read any book about sharks I could get my hands on. I loved watching those animal shows that featured sharks. And no matter how many times the movie &lt;em&gt;Jaws&lt;/em&gt; made me jump out of my seat, I still loved watching it---mainly for the views of the sharks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still am fascinated by sharks, but I would never get in one of those cages to get up close and personal with them. The sharks in my imagination can eat through those bars. I'm still a bit intimidated by the ocean because of this movie I saw (the title escapes me at the moment) about a couple of scuba divers who were left out in the ocean accidentally.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I still watch the entire week of Shark Week on the Discovery channel too. Never miss it!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-5702371417175397423?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/5702371417175397423/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=5702371417175397423' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5702371417175397423'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/5702371417175397423'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/08/little-boys-are-made-of.html' title='Little Boys Are Made of....'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-8725335946661316903</id><published>2008-08-15T10:02:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-15T10:14:08.023-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Just Call Out My Name</title><content type='html'>One of my buddies is going through some relationship problems at the moment. He has been dating this girl for almost three years and recently found out about that she went on a date with another guy. She didn't sleep with the guy, or even kiss the guy, just went out for dinner. She told him that she was having second thoughts about their relationship and was just testing the waters to see if maybe she was right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He is so overcome with grief he can't see straight. He missed a couple days of work and I've been told doesn't answer his phone all the time, although whenever I have called, he has picked up. He told me that he loves this girl and wants to work things out, even going as far as couple counseling if they need to. She said that she is willing to work on the "wrongs" of their relationship also, because she didn't feel anything on that date, and could only keep thinking about wanting to be with him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some of our other friends have told him to dump her. They say she's getting her cake and eating it too. I told him to let it play out, to see what happens, to do what his gut tells him to do. I feel this kind of advice can't go wrong. To me, being a friend is allowing another person to lean on you and that's what I'm doing. My other buddies tell me to "grow some" and to tell him to leave her---not to be so passive. They say he'll only end up getting hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My argument is he wants to work things out with her. If this is what he wants, then all we can do is support him. When he falls, if he falls then we can pick him up. But to try and prevent that fall, may only bring some resentment and thoughts of "what if", if we don't let him try it his way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He asked me yesterday what would happen if he got hurt. I told him he'd always have friends to help him through it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-8725335946661316903?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/8725335946661316903/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=8725335946661316903' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8725335946661316903'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/8725335946661316903'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/08/just-call-out-my-name.html' title='Just Call Out My Name'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-683385221932968894</id><published>2008-08-10T09:00:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-10T09:05:20.304-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Gold</title><content type='html'>Did anyone see the Olympics yesterday? I was jumping up and down like a bullfrog (although I'm not quite sure if they actually continually jump) when Michael Phelps was racing for the gold. Yes, I know that Ryan Lochte was also swimming for the U.S.A. and he should have commanded equal attention. But something about Phelps' life story strikes a cord with me. I like the way that he searches the crowd for his mother and sisters whenever he finishes a race and that his Mom is his core inspiration.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Congratulations Michael on winning the gold and breaking another record! I hope all the U.S. athletes do well too and wish them all the luck in their competitions.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-683385221932968894?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/683385221932968894/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=683385221932968894' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/683385221932968894'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/683385221932968894'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/08/gold.html' title='Gold'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-947076812907373980</id><published>2008-08-04T12:32:00.003-04:00</published><updated>2008-08-04T12:42:44.628-04:00</updated><title type='text'>Tie A Ribbon Around Your Finger</title><content type='html'>Just read a disturbing news story. Actually it's the second story of its kind. It's the real life version of &lt;em&gt;Home Alone&lt;/em&gt;. A family forgot their toddler in the airport while dashing to get their flight. Now tell me, what is more imporant, a few hours wait for the next flight, the inconvenience of searching for luggage that landed ahead of you OR your child?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have forgotten numerous things in a mad dash. My cell phone, my backpack, a jacket and sometimes a shower have been left behind in an effort to make it some place on time. I have never forgotten a person. I don't have a child to forget, but I know that if I did have one, this child would probably be a priority.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What is the most important thing you've ever forgotten?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-947076812907373980?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/947076812907373980/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=947076812907373980' title='11 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/947076812907373980'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/947076812907373980'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/08/tie-ribbon-around-your-finger.html' title='Tie A Ribbon Around Your Finger'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>11</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6901151.post-2074786291376519478</id><published>2008-07-28T10:57:00.002-04:00</published><updated>2008-07-28T11:01:55.338-04:00</updated><title type='text'>How Much Does Insuring Sanity Cost?</title><content type='html'>I went out drinking this weekend and heard one of the funniest conversations take place. I could only hear one end of the conversation, but it was pretty hilarious to hear it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some person was on the phone talking drunkenly (is that a word) loud.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This person said "I am not going to insure you again!!! Everytime I go out, I have to insure you".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was silence and then, "Part of trusting me is letting me go out with my friends. I shouldn't have to insure you about this."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Silence again as the other person took this in and then, "I am tired of insuring you. Goodbye".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bought another drink as a toast to them.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6901151-2074786291376519478?l=notstirred.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/feeds/2074786291376519478/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=6901151&amp;postID=2074786291376519478' title='8 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2074786291376519478'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6901151/posts/default/2074786291376519478'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://notstirred.blogspot.com/2008/07/how-much-does-insuring-sanity-cost.html' title='How Much Does Insuring Sanity Cost?'/><author><name>angel, jr.</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/05144019552337738621</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v701/Artiki/angel.gif'/></author><thr:total>8</thr:total></entry></feed>
