<?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-6862570545248217607</id><updated>2012-02-15T23:26:21.236-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Paper mermaid</title><subtitle type='html'>Dreams</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>73</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-900078396383341636</id><published>2011-12-09T16:16:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2011-12-09T16:27:43.815-08:00</updated><title type='text'>String in My Gums</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_mr9YP99iDg/TuKnZjTo-VI/AAAAAAAAAKY/2douIXX-aRM/s1600/imagesCAZP309W.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 216px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 233px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5684289737111173458" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_mr9YP99iDg/TuKnZjTo-VI/AAAAAAAAAKY/2douIXX-aRM/s320/imagesCAZP309W.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was looking at myself in the mirror and I saw a string dangling from my gums. I started pulling on it, pulling it out of my gums, around and around my mouth. It felt like I was unraveling a scarf I had knitted. Was the string man-made? If so, how did it get embedded in my gums? Was it a natural part of my body? What the hell was it? I pulled a big pile of string out of my mouth and when it began unraveling from my bottom jaw, it reached my eye tooth and blood begand gushing out of my mouth. I held my head over the sink wondering what in the hell was happening to me?!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-900078396383341636?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/900078396383341636/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/12/string-in-my-gums.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/900078396383341636'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/900078396383341636'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/12/string-in-my-gums.html' title='String in My Gums'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_mr9YP99iDg/TuKnZjTo-VI/AAAAAAAAAKY/2douIXX-aRM/s72-c/imagesCAZP309W.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-2897890097055863705</id><published>2011-10-15T07:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-15T08:01:32.029-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Kathy</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fDY0Y7YH_0U/TpmgRBJdaAI/AAAAAAAAAKE/vflfnGel8z8/s1600/Jefferson_pic.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 198px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663734220621441026" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fDY0Y7YH_0U/TpmgRBJdaAI/AAAAAAAAAKE/vflfnGel8z8/s320/Jefferson_pic.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;We were in a faculty meeting and Kathy told us that the students in her OU class had taken a survey and decided that laminators were old-fashioned and shouldn't be used anymore. I argued with her that I used the laminator a lot and didn't think we should get rid of it. Then we started doing some stupid exercise where we had to read a passage and code it according to a chart she had posted on the wall. I didn't understand what to do and when she walked by our table and noticed I had nothing written down, she confronted me. I got very angry and walked out of the meeting. I went to the workroom and started looking through my mailbox, furious with Kathy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-2897890097055863705?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/2897890097055863705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/10/kathy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2897890097055863705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2897890097055863705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/10/kathy.html' title='Kathy'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fDY0Y7YH_0U/TpmgRBJdaAI/AAAAAAAAAKE/vflfnGel8z8/s72-c/Jefferson_pic.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-8591583235294816065</id><published>2011-10-15T07:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-10-15T07:54:23.277-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sunday Dinner</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fTzWhhr0DSw/TpmefGDJXEI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/grwqlpG3jNg/s1600/imagesCAOAU3OW.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 194px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 259px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5663732263432051778" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fTzWhhr0DSw/TpmefGDJXEI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/grwqlpG3jNg/s320/imagesCAOAU3OW.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Russ and I went to his parents' house for a Sunday dinner. There were a lot of people there and I was very nervous. Russ left me alone with everyone while he went to take a shower. It was very crowded around the table and his mom kept filling my plate up with food. She had made some sort of spaghetti casserole. People were asking me questions, but I wasn't hearing them correctly and my answers were strange. We were watching people swim in a pool on TV and there was a couple having sex in the pool. Someone made a joke about them and said, "I wonder what you name a child conceived in a pool?" I suggested, "Chlorine" and everyone thought I was so funny! Russ came into the kitchen dressed only in a towel and I thought he was so sexy. When it was time to leave, Russ headed out to the car while I was gathering my things. When I got outside, I was in a parking lot with a lot of cars and I couldn't figure out which one he was in. I stood on the curb with all of my bags hoping he would see me. He pulled up in a beat-up pickup truck and we drove away. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-8591583235294816065?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/8591583235294816065/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/10/sunday-dinner.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8591583235294816065'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8591583235294816065'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/10/sunday-dinner.html' title='Sunday Dinner'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fTzWhhr0DSw/TpmefGDJXEI/AAAAAAAAAJ4/grwqlpG3jNg/s72-c/imagesCAOAU3OW.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-3696715667623787797</id><published>2011-08-06T05:14:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-08-06T05:20:05.549-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Blake Griffin</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-11lqRsoII-8/Tj0xYlbnl-I/AAAAAAAAAJw/RvB-ulUy0Ww/s1600/blake-griffin.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 297px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5637716606972303330" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-11lqRsoII-8/Tj0xYlbnl-I/AAAAAAAAAJw/RvB-ulUy0Ww/s320/blake-griffin.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Blake Griffin was my boyfriend. He was at school with me with mom and dad, and we were organizing kids and sending them through some kind of enrollment process. He had such a cute smile and was really enjoying working with the kids. He kept touching me, hugging me, putting his arm around me. I was worried that he'd find out how old I was. We were calling out names of kids and sending them through lines to sign up for a Thanksgiving dinner. Then we ended up in a house, laying on a bed and cuddling. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-3696715667623787797?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/3696715667623787797/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/08/blake-griffin.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3696715667623787797'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3696715667623787797'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/08/blake-griffin.html' title='Blake Griffin'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-11lqRsoII-8/Tj0xYlbnl-I/AAAAAAAAAJw/RvB-ulUy0Ww/s72-c/blake-griffin.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-1166039660668976904</id><published>2011-07-29T06:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-29T06:30:58.151-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Basketball</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--XXbr0dU9dI/TjK2CvHVZpI/AAAAAAAAAJo/ZWJUVML-Jhw/s1600/ymca.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 196px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 178px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634766241917134482" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--XXbr0dU9dI/TjK2CvHVZpI/AAAAAAAAAJo/ZWJUVML-Jhw/s320/ymca.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in charge of sports at the Y again and I organized a co-ed basketball league. During one of the games, a girl fell and knocked out one of her teeth. I picked her tooth up off the floor and walked with her to the front desk where I got her some ice packs. Her face was bloody and she was very upset that she had lost a tooth. A man came up to me and told me what a great league I had organized. He was very complimentary and interested in my background. I told him I was a teacher and that the Y was just a part-time job. He seemed surprised. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-1166039660668976904?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/1166039660668976904/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/basketball.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1166039660668976904'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1166039660668976904'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/basketball.html' title='Basketball'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/--XXbr0dU9dI/TjK2CvHVZpI/AAAAAAAAAJo/ZWJUVML-Jhw/s72-c/ymca.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-6471393914061411018</id><published>2011-07-27T15:38:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-27T15:41:34.748-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Swimming</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y0WPdu5JTjE/TjCUFHQd55I/AAAAAAAAAJg/tW--zwhr0dk/s1600/swimming.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 176px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5634165949408864146" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y0WPdu5JTjE/TjCUFHQd55I/AAAAAAAAAJg/tW--zwhr0dk/s320/swimming.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Dad and I were at a pool and he was coaching me. I swam a 50 fly so well that I surprised myself. It felt effortless and I wasn't even tired when I finished. Dad was very impressed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-6471393914061411018?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/6471393914061411018/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/swimming.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6471393914061411018'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6471393914061411018'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/swimming.html' title='Swimming'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y0WPdu5JTjE/TjCUFHQd55I/AAAAAAAAAJg/tW--zwhr0dk/s72-c/swimming.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-7270725810078479778</id><published>2011-07-23T06:42:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-23T06:49:33.284-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Amy's House</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1MKv72nJVXA/TirRW4JZhuI/AAAAAAAAAJY/Y1AFPeuk7PI/s1600/neptune.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632544474939360994" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1MKv72nJVXA/TirRW4JZhuI/AAAAAAAAAJY/Y1AFPeuk7PI/s320/neptune.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Amy and Matt moved into a new house and I brought Mel and her girls over to see it. It was a huge old house with 4 stories. The 3rd floor was a sports bar with red and black furniture, a bar, round tables and chairs, pool tables, and huge TVs. The stairs to the 4th floor were rickety and there were boards and construction equipment everywhere. There were beams across the ceiling and a giant Neptune holding a trident was painted on the wall. The room had an ocean theme and there was blue sparkly paint on all the walls. The house was so big that you could get lost wandering around in it. An old lady had sold it to them for very cheap, but there was a lot of work to be done to it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-7270725810078479778?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/7270725810078479778/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/amys-house.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7270725810078479778'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7270725810078479778'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/amys-house.html' title='Amy&apos;s House'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1MKv72nJVXA/TirRW4JZhuI/AAAAAAAAAJY/Y1AFPeuk7PI/s72-c/neptune.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4156047876034179064</id><published>2011-07-22T05:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-22T05:48:06.053-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mr. Den and Russ</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pN009U4nin8/TilxUTeA-TI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/lPvsz1UO_PY/s1600/phs.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 213px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5632157402641004850" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pN009U4nin8/TilxUTeA-TI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/lPvsz1UO_PY/s320/phs.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I looked like an adult, but I was back in school and Mr. Den was my teacher. I scored very high on a reading test and he was praising me for my ability. Then he told me that I had to pay some type of tuition to stay in the school, but no one else had to pay it. I got mad and told him I thought that was discriminatory and that I would just drop out. He got mad too and told me to leave. The class gasped as I picked up my stuff and walked out the door. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The parking lot looked like the one at Pampa High School and I was running, looking for my car. Mom and dad had left their stuff in my car and were standing in the parking lot talking to someone. I told mom what had happened and she wanted to go talk to the principal. The principal was a tall woman and she got scared when I used the word "discrimination" when telling her what had happened because she was afraid of a lawsuit. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next, I found myself in some type of hotel in a conference room watching a performance by children. I think they were kids from my school, but I wasn't allowed to participate because I had dropped out. Russ was staying in a hotel room, but I didn't know which one. We had had a fight and I was trying to find him so we could make up. I kept running into people from my past as I was looking for Russ. I finally found him, but he was still mad and wouldn't really talk to me. I was so desperate to make things alright between us. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4156047876034179064?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4156047876034179064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/mr-den-and-russ.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4156047876034179064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4156047876034179064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/mr-den-and-russ.html' title='Mr. Den and Russ'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pN009U4nin8/TilxUTeA-TI/AAAAAAAAAJQ/lPvsz1UO_PY/s72-c/phs.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-1695067177073543286</id><published>2011-07-21T06:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-21T06:35:50.483-07:00</updated><title type='text'>It's Gettin Hot in Here</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f76oXCctTN8/TigrMdsL6QI/AAAAAAAAAJI/ulqsM2xyyCo/s1600/nelly.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 160px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 160px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631798827155187970" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f76oXCctTN8/TigrMdsL6QI/AAAAAAAAAJI/ulqsM2xyyCo/s320/nelly.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-1695067177073543286?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/1695067177073543286/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/its-gettin-hot-in-here.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1695067177073543286'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1695067177073543286'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/its-gettin-hot-in-here.html' title='It&apos;s Gettin Hot in Here'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f76oXCctTN8/TigrMdsL6QI/AAAAAAAAAJI/ulqsM2xyyCo/s72-c/nelly.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4927827583618998079</id><published>2011-07-19T05:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-19T05:31:27.961-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Benny and the Jets</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vehYRDd_A5s/TiV5GkilfVI/AAAAAAAAAJA/0KcTTip3OpM/s1600/Elton.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 301px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631040062891588946" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vehYRDd_A5s/TiV5GkilfVI/AAAAAAAAAJA/0KcTTip3OpM/s320/Elton.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4927827583618998079?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4927827583618998079/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/benny-and-jets.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4927827583618998079'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4927827583618998079'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/benny-and-jets.html' title='Benny and the Jets'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-vehYRDd_A5s/TiV5GkilfVI/AAAAAAAAAJA/0KcTTip3OpM/s72-c/Elton.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-793894397991558488</id><published>2011-07-18T05:30:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-18T05:36:59.215-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Japan</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lwMukvMG9QI/TiQo5c9MC7I/AAAAAAAAAI4/1MoxGo1huks/s1600/japan1.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 282px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630670401610451890" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lwMukvMG9QI/TiQo5c9MC7I/AAAAAAAAAI4/1MoxGo1huks/s320/japan1.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Russ and I were on vacation together with Sam. We were in a nice hotel, but Sam got out of the room and was bothering people on the elevator. Russ told me we were going to fly to Japan. A man who was leading the tour asked me if Russ and I were ever going to get married and I told him I didn't know. We got into a plane to fly to Japan. It was like an amusement park ride and was open on the sides and had glass floors so you could see the ground beneath your feet. I was so excited to go to another country! When we landed they started herding us to a boat. I had to go to the bathroom so they showed me where to go and told me they would wait for me. I expected Japanese bathrooms to be very clean, but they were smelly and dirty just like American bathrooms. The only difference was that there was a hole in the floor to poop in and a toilet to pee in. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-793894397991558488?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/793894397991558488/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/japan.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/793894397991558488'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/793894397991558488'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/japan.html' title='Japan'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-lwMukvMG9QI/TiQo5c9MC7I/AAAAAAAAAI4/1MoxGo1huks/s72-c/japan1.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-2424792770501849602</id><published>2011-07-04T08:41:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-07-04T08:47:12.241-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Tornado</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F35MRc3ANtM/ThHf4kpgUOI/AAAAAAAAAIw/SIi1Td1cbxE/s1600/tornado_oklahoma_1999.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 267px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5625523572565889250" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F35MRc3ANtM/ThHf4kpgUOI/AAAAAAAAAIw/SIi1Td1cbxE/s320/tornado_oklahoma_1999.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Ever since the storm on June 14, I've been having dreams about tornadoes. I can always see them in the distance coming toward me. The winds are so strong that a deep trench is being dug into the ground at the base of the tornado, and debris is flying through the air. In one of the dreams, I came out of the house after the tornado had passed and everything had been destroyed. I didn't even recognize my neighborhood because there were no houses or trees in sight. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-2424792770501849602?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/2424792770501849602/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/tornado.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2424792770501849602'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2424792770501849602'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/07/tornado.html' title='Tornado'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-F35MRc3ANtM/ThHf4kpgUOI/AAAAAAAAAIw/SIi1Td1cbxE/s72-c/tornado_oklahoma_1999.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-7445067967920585775</id><published>2011-06-20T06:34:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-20T06:40:45.562-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Russ's Office</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TrpoifpB6yQ/Tf9N0UCS2NI/AAAAAAAAAIo/I9TrYcY4sUI/s1600/rl%2Ballen.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620296421108537554" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TrpoifpB6yQ/Tf9N0UCS2NI/AAAAAAAAAIo/I9TrYcY4sUI/s320/rl%2Ballen.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was at Russ's office, which was like a house. It had a kitchen, bathroom, living room, etc. I was studying for a social studies CRT that I had to take at Jefferson the next day. Russ left me there by myself and I cooked stew and cornbread while he was gone. Then I decided to go look for him, so I got on my motorcycle and drove to Rodney's house. I went down an alley at the back of the house and I could hear Rayford and Rodney in the garage arguing over getting rid of stuff. I drove back to Russ's office and Russ arrived shortly after me with a bunch of kids. I was sitting on the floor organizing board games and they came running over to me wanting to play. I handed them "Hungry Hippos" to keep them out of the games I was trying to put back together. I decided to skip school the next day because I needed more time to study and I knew Lisa Linke would let me make it up. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-7445067967920585775?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/7445067967920585775/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/06/russs-office.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7445067967920585775'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7445067967920585775'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/06/russs-office.html' title='Russ&apos;s Office'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TrpoifpB6yQ/Tf9N0UCS2NI/AAAAAAAAAIo/I9TrYcY4sUI/s72-c/rl%2Ballen.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-7170307457003730497</id><published>2011-06-08T05:50:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-08T06:00:37.573-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Party with Jackson</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pLpIUvDHRuI/Te9ycCsDx0I/AAAAAAAAAIg/RiRRtsmjYKQ/s1600/Toilet_Fish_bowl__by_aznanime1010.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 150px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 113px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615833086437869378" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pLpIUvDHRuI/Te9ycCsDx0I/AAAAAAAAAIg/RiRRtsmjYKQ/s320/Toilet_Fish_bowl__by_aznanime1010.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was the last day of school and Jefferson was having a joint celebration with Jackson. We were at Jackson in a big auditorium eating BBQ and watching a movie. I was sitting next to Amy and one of the Jackson teachers got up and started leading everyone in singing, "Jesus Loves Me." I looked at Amy and said, "I can't handle this shit" and went to the bathroom. I had BBQ all over my shirt and was trying to clean it off. Then I went into a stall to poop and there were goldfish swimming around in the toilet bowl. At first I was freaked out, but then I realized they were there to eat all the nasty bacteria and keep the toilet bowl clean. I thought it was a great idea, but I was nervous to sit down on the toilet because I thought the fish might bite me. I walked out of the bathroom and was looking at a new classroom they had built in their courtyard. Someone was pushing a cart full of food and it slammed into a display case and broke everything. Amy walked up and I was laughing at what had just happened. She told me I better be quiet or we'd get in trouble. We went back into the auditorium and the same teacher was leading everyone in a Thanksgiving prayer. All of a sudden I realized that the next day was Thanksgiving and I hadn't made any preparations. I said this out loud and several teachers who were standing around gave me this weird look like, "I can't believe you forgot Thanksgiving."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-7170307457003730497?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/7170307457003730497/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/06/party-with-jackson.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7170307457003730497'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7170307457003730497'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/06/party-with-jackson.html' title='Party with Jackson'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pLpIUvDHRuI/Te9ycCsDx0I/AAAAAAAAAIg/RiRRtsmjYKQ/s72-c/Toilet_Fish_bowl__by_aznanime1010.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-7314487610688393549</id><published>2011-06-08T05:48:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-06-08T05:49:43.474-07:00</updated><title type='text'>On the Road Again</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L_Hl8i_u1Hg/Te9v3n1ZeBI/AAAAAAAAAIY/hCbW8ra594E/s1600/willienelson_1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 246px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615830261730736146" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L_Hl8i_u1Hg/Te9v3n1ZeBI/AAAAAAAAAIY/hCbW8ra594E/s320/willienelson_1.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-7314487610688393549?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/7314487610688393549/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/06/on-road-again.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7314487610688393549'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7314487610688393549'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/06/on-road-again.html' title='On the Road Again'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-L_Hl8i_u1Hg/Te9v3n1ZeBI/AAAAAAAAAIY/hCbW8ra594E/s72-c/willienelson_1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-830618539656991280</id><published>2011-05-04T04:08:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-04T04:09:18.339-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TSuSUzQIXJs/TcEz2RWMs_I/AAAAAAAAAIM/1-0E9wyVNJg/s1600/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 224px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 225px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602816418888070130" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TSuSUzQIXJs/TcEz2RWMs_I/AAAAAAAAAIM/1-0E9wyVNJg/s320/images.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-830618539656991280?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/830618539656991280/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/05/will-you-still-love-me-tomorrow.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/830618539656991280'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/830618539656991280'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/05/will-you-still-love-me-tomorrow.html' title='Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TSuSUzQIXJs/TcEz2RWMs_I/AAAAAAAAAIM/1-0E9wyVNJg/s72-c/images.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-3538240497828193002</id><published>2011-05-04T04:04:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-05-04T04:07:03.862-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Raise Your Glass</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--OfMF4Qgw2I/TcEzTSUsW2I/AAAAAAAAAIE/iKY1oCvbXEg/s1600/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 225px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 225px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5602815817854770018" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--OfMF4Qgw2I/TcEzTSUsW2I/AAAAAAAAAIE/iKY1oCvbXEg/s320/images.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-3538240497828193002?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/3538240497828193002/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/05/raise-your-glass.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3538240497828193002'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3538240497828193002'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/05/raise-your-glass.html' title='Raise Your Glass'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/--OfMF4Qgw2I/TcEzTSUsW2I/AAAAAAAAAIE/iKY1oCvbXEg/s72-c/images.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4161201814618818868</id><published>2011-04-13T04:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-13T04:38:18.991-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hines and Seyi</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hWP30LBGBf4/TaWLHUb3SQI/AAAAAAAAAH8/sW7An-OmLn8/s1600/hines-ward_upiphotos912174-nfl-super-bowl-xlii.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 271px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5595031069938632962" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hWP30LBGBf4/TaWLHUb3SQI/AAAAAAAAAH8/sW7An-OmLn8/s320/hines-ward_upiphotos912174-nfl-super-bowl-xlii.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in college and my boyfriend was Hines Ward. He was on the football team and he loved me very much. Susan was coming to visit and mom and dad were very excited because she was going to be playing in a band that performed at halftime of Hines' game. She arrived on a bus and I had to chase her down when she got off. I lost her and ended up running back to my dorm room. Hines morphed into Seyi at some point and he had a puppy that he put into a swimming pool. I was afraid the puppy would drown, so I jumped in to save it. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4161201814618818868?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4161201814618818868/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/04/hines-and-seyi.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4161201814618818868'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4161201814618818868'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/04/hines-and-seyi.html' title='Hines and Seyi'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-hWP30LBGBf4/TaWLHUb3SQI/AAAAAAAAAH8/sW7An-OmLn8/s72-c/hines-ward_upiphotos912174-nfl-super-bowl-xlii.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-8148904333263110553</id><published>2011-04-10T10:22:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-10T10:26:08.791-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Goldie's</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5DPZ-wROwC0/TaHoG9PiP0I/AAAAAAAAAH0/oV-sCG0DpGo/s1600/goldies.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 144px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 144px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5594007418387447618" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5DPZ-wROwC0/TaHoG9PiP0I/AAAAAAAAAH0/oV-sCG0DpGo/s320/goldies.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was working at Goldie's again and it was like I'd never left. I was taking orders and entering them into the computer with ease. Then it started to get busy and hectic and I couldn't seem to remember how to do anything. I walked in the back to get something and found a door leading to another part of the restaurant I had never seen. It was a locker room with showers and benches. People were asking me if I planned on working there throughout the summer, but I said I was too busy. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-8148904333263110553?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/8148904333263110553/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/04/goldies.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8148904333263110553'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8148904333263110553'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/04/goldies.html' title='Goldie&apos;s'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-5DPZ-wROwC0/TaHoG9PiP0I/AAAAAAAAAH0/oV-sCG0DpGo/s72-c/goldies.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-2653236727963782814</id><published>2011-04-09T06:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2011-04-09T06:59:32.598-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Brother and Our Massages</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjG-Ms6g2DI/TaBmNAEacXI/AAAAAAAAAHs/TNOdtrTmFnY/s1600/massage.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 229px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 220px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593583110736998770" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjG-Ms6g2DI/TaBmNAEacXI/AAAAAAAAAHs/TNOdtrTmFnY/s320/massage.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;While doing genealogical research, I discovered I had a brother I had never known about. He was related to me through Grandmother Kathleen, but he was still my brother somehow. He was African Amercian and looked like Dante's Big Brother, Kache. We met in the mall at my pedicure place and were talking about our family. I learned that Grandmother K had starred in a Hollywood movie when she was in her 20s. After my pedicure, I decided to get a massage and asked my brother if he would like one too. We laid down on massage tables right next to each other and continued our conversation. The massage therapists were Thai and were speaking to each other as they gave us massages, but we couldn't understand what they were saying. At one point, my massage therapist began plucking hairs around my ass by reaching underneath the towel that covered me. I was laying on my stomach so I couldn't see exactly what she was doing, but she was laughing and pointing. I was very embarrassed. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-2653236727963782814?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/2653236727963782814/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/04/my-brother-and-our-massages.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2653236727963782814'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2653236727963782814'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/04/my-brother-and-our-massages.html' title='My Brother and Our Massages'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZjG-Ms6g2DI/TaBmNAEacXI/AAAAAAAAAHs/TNOdtrTmFnY/s72-c/massage.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-580442216032727815</id><published>2011-02-26T08:02:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-26T08:07:41.591-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Basketball at the Y</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3u4P6nL_jjc/TWklSC_iZaI/AAAAAAAAAHk/FwwQXZIBFY0/s1600/images.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 225px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 225px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5578030605446309282" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3u4P6nL_jjc/TWklSC_iZaI/AAAAAAAAAHk/FwwQXZIBFY0/s320/images.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was playing in a basketball league at the Y and Vernon was in charge. He decided who the starters were, when to make substitutions, etc. At the end of the game I had only played 5 minutes and I was pissed! The next game was about to start, and there was a team that was one player short. I asked them if they needed a 5th, and Vernon intervened and told me I couldn't play because they were guys. "This is a co-ed league!" I yelled at him. But he wouldn't let me play. I stormed off to the front desk and filled out a comment card about the league. Vernon read it and then showed me one that someone else had filled out complimenting the league. I read it and yelled, "This was written by a 3rd grader, you idiot!" Everyone laughed at him and I could tell I had really pissed him off. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-580442216032727815?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/580442216032727815/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/02/basketball-at-y.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/580442216032727815'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/580442216032727815'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/02/basketball-at-y.html' title='Basketball at the Y'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-3u4P6nL_jjc/TWklSC_iZaI/AAAAAAAAAHk/FwwQXZIBFY0/s72-c/images.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4368252010726813074</id><published>2011-02-12T09:20:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2011-02-12T09:25:28.190-08:00</updated><title type='text'>The Spirit Shop</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ry23NiEB9UY/TVbCc7JvyHI/AAAAAAAAAHc/prmfEmAg3RI/s1600/spiritshop1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5572855391088265330" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ry23NiEB9UY/TVbCc7JvyHI/AAAAAAAAAHc/prmfEmAg3RI/s320/spiritshop1.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was standing behind the counter at the Spirit Shop with Amy. It was like an old country store with hardwood floors and barrels sitting in corners. She walked off to help a customer and a woman walked up with several boxes of wine and liquor. I started to ring her up, but I was slow with the cash register. Then another woman walked up and said she was selling weed from Missouri and Arkansas and wanted to know if we'd be interested. I started to panic as the store became busier and busier and children were running all over the place. A woman said they were hers and she knew they were underage, but that she wouldn't be long.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4368252010726813074?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4368252010726813074/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/02/spirit-shop.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4368252010726813074'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4368252010726813074'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2011/02/spirit-shop.html' title='The Spirit Shop'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-ry23NiEB9UY/TVbCc7JvyHI/AAAAAAAAAHc/prmfEmAg3RI/s72-c/spiritshop1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-8746354113437568274</id><published>2010-12-19T07:36:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-19T07:45:32.510-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Putnam</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TQ4ohVYUBvI/AAAAAAAAAHE/vrUIjx5t9wI/s1600/hs_1950_putnam.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5552419943734314738" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TQ4ohVYUBvI/AAAAAAAAAHE/vrUIjx5t9wI/s320/hs_1950_putnam.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was giving a tour of Putnam to kids in my class. The gym had been turned into the library and they were tearing down the wing that came out of the old library. The walls had been torn down and there were lumber and tools and concrete all over the place. I was trying to get them to envision the hallway and the classrooms. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-8746354113437568274?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/8746354113437568274/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/12/putnam.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8746354113437568274'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8746354113437568274'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/12/putnam.html' title='Putnam'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TQ4ohVYUBvI/AAAAAAAAAHE/vrUIjx5t9wI/s72-c/hs_1950_putnam.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4817356445157613794</id><published>2010-12-14T16:24:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-14T16:28:33.430-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Seal in the Shower</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TQgLmBgTrcI/AAAAAAAAAG8/oC0hFsADaxQ/s1600/seal.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 227px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 222px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5550699288601013698" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TQgLmBgTrcI/AAAAAAAAAG8/oC0hFsADaxQ/s320/seal.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in our house in Ft. Collins and about to take a shower. I was letting the water run to get hot before I got in. I pulled back the shower curtain and saw a giant frog sitting in the tub. Then it morphed into a cute seal with whiskers. It freaked me out and I called for dad. He came into the bathroom with a blanket to wrap around the seal and get it out of the tub. As I was standing in the hall waiting, I kept thinking, 'How the hell did that seal get in the tub? Through the drain?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4817356445157613794?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4817356445157613794/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/12/seal-in-shower.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4817356445157613794'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4817356445157613794'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/12/seal-in-shower.html' title='Seal in the Shower'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TQgLmBgTrcI/AAAAAAAAAG8/oC0hFsADaxQ/s72-c/seal.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4017656008429861965</id><published>2010-12-12T17:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-12-13T16:16:25.217-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Skating with the Stars</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TQV68-k4CUI/AAAAAAAAAG0/QRw0XUgJUFk/s1600/skating-with-the-stars.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5549977303812409666" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TQV68-k4CUI/AAAAAAAAAG0/QRw0XUgJUFk/s320/skating-with-the-stars.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was one of the "stars" on the TV show "Skating with the Stars" (which is weird since I've never seen the show). Christina Aguilera was my biggest competition and we didn't like each other. I don't know who my partner was, but I remember thinking that he had to be a pretty big guy in order to lift me up the way the tiny girls were being lifted. I was very confident in my ability to win the competition and I remember turning to Christina as we were sitting in the audience and saying, "I haven't even watched my tape back yet, but I'm sure I did better than you did."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4017656008429861965?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4017656008429861965/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/12/skating-with-stars.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4017656008429861965'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4017656008429861965'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/12/skating-with-stars.html' title='Skating with the Stars'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TQV68-k4CUI/AAAAAAAAAG0/QRw0XUgJUFk/s72-c/skating-with-the-stars.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-7426230782521354427</id><published>2010-10-30T09:12:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-30T09:21:46.386-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Vet</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TMxGEFatDUI/AAAAAAAAAGs/QWbKegRzfdQ/s1600/rudy+and+sam.JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533875078119099714" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TMxGEFatDUI/AAAAAAAAAGs/QWbKegRzfdQ/s320/rudy+and+sam.JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Mom told me about a new vet I should go to in an area of town I had never been to before. I drove down a road and followed a car to an old-fashioned shopping mall that reminded me of the Century Mall in Ft. Collins. The car drove through an archway, directly into the building, and parked in the middle of the mall. There were elderly people sitting on benches and shoppers walking by. I got out and saw the vet's office right away, but then realized I had forgotten to bring the dogs with me. I got back in my car and drove home to get them. Upon returning, I parked the car and walked to the office again, leaving the dogs in the car. I couldn't believe I had done it again and went back to the car to get the dogs. I could see them jumping up and down in the car, barking at me, anxious to get out and see the new vet. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-7426230782521354427?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/7426230782521354427/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/vet.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7426230782521354427'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7426230782521354427'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/vet.html' title='The Vet'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TMxGEFatDUI/AAAAAAAAAGs/QWbKegRzfdQ/s72-c/rudy+and+sam.JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-3488707268239383884</id><published>2010-10-30T09:01:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-12-13T16:17:15.560-08:00</updated><title type='text'>My Neighbor Goes to Jail</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TMxD44Srz_I/AAAAAAAAAGk/_aQEydOqDTI/s1600/handcuffed_woman.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 212px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533872686593986546" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TMxD44Srz_I/AAAAAAAAAGk/_aQEydOqDTI/s320/handcuffed_woman.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Denise was mad at me for the dogs barking and was standing outside my window yelling at me. I encouraged her, planning to call the police and have her arrested. She was trying to sell me something and I knew that if I bought it, it would make me look better when the police came. I used my cell phone to place an order for $600 and immediately, boxes of whatever I had ordered were stacked against my wall. I stuck my head out the window and she continued yelling at me. Somehow I enticed her into my house and then called 911. When the police arrived, they immediately bent her over and handcuffed her. She looked so ashamed and knew she had been caught red-handed, trespassing in my house. I explained to the police what a horrible woman she was and they took her away. She was in the process of trying to adopt a little boy and she realized the arrest would halt the adoption. I felt bad for her, but I was so happy to get revenge. The next day when I came home, mom and dad were at my house and mom said she had gone through my text messages and saw where I had placed the order. She knew that I had manipulated the situation to get Denise arrested and was very disappointed in me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-3488707268239383884?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/3488707268239383884/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/my-neighbor-goes-to-jail.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3488707268239383884'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3488707268239383884'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/my-neighbor-goes-to-jail.html' title='My Neighbor Goes to Jail'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TMxD44Srz_I/AAAAAAAAAGk/_aQEydOqDTI/s72-c/handcuffed_woman.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-7478218106052264156</id><published>2010-10-29T04:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-30T09:24:00.224-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Paris</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TMqt5bTvAnI/AAAAAAAAAGc/7oc3wQ4GFTk/s1600/414994_0.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5533426294272754290" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TMqt5bTvAnI/AAAAAAAAAGc/7oc3wQ4GFTk/s320/414994_0.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I flew to Paris and when I got off the plane, I found myself with a woman and her boyfriend. They invited me to stay at his house, which he described as very modest. We drove down a busy highway and then turned onto a road across from a large mall. There were Dr. Seuss trees lining the lane and we pulled up to a stone cottage. When we first entered the house, it was very small and he told me he was in the process of remodeling. It had stone floors and a quaint kitchen with an old-fashioned stove and refrigerator. I was enchanted and kept telling him, "This is exactly what I pictured a French house would look like!" I ran from room to room, up and down stairs, and through crooked passages. I went outside and saw the pool and beautiful landscaping and realized the house was a mansion. I called mom and told her what a wonderful time I was having, but she was very worried that I was staying with strangers and didn't want to hear more. At one point, a man asked me a question in French. I understood him, but replied, "Si." Then I realized I had answered in Spanish, not French, and quickly said, "I mean oui!" He laughed at me. Another woman entered the dream and I realized she was pregnant and wanted to have an abortion. She was somehow related to either the guy or his girlfriend. We became friends and cooked dinner together in the beautiful kitchen. Her parents arrived to take her away and make her have the baby. At first, they seemed very friendly and I sat on the couch talking to them. Then her dad started making passes at me and trying to touch me under the pillows on the couch. I kept telling him no and tried to stay away from him. At the end of the dream, they caught the pregnant girl and were trying to force her into a car. She was crying and I gave her a big hug and told her everything would be alright. I whispered in her ear that I had been in the same situation more than once and she looked at me surprisingly, but also relieved. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-7478218106052264156?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/7478218106052264156/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/paris.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7478218106052264156'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7478218106052264156'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/paris.html' title='Paris'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TMqt5bTvAnI/AAAAAAAAAGc/7oc3wQ4GFTk/s72-c/414994_0.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-6714710938445920246</id><published>2010-10-17T16:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-17T16:29:46.857-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Octopus</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TLuG39VHYCI/AAAAAAAAAGU/Ui7hKa9Ywdg/s1600/octopus1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5529161263441469474" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TLuG39VHYCI/AAAAAAAAAGU/Ui7hKa9Ywdg/s320/octopus1.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The pond in my backyard was enclosed in a little gazebo with benches all around it. A large octopus lived in the pond and would crawl out and sit on one of the benches. I was very scared of the octopus, but didn't know how to get rid of it. It was pink and it would stick its suction cups on the windows in the gazebo. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-6714710938445920246?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/6714710938445920246/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/octopus.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6714710938445920246'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6714710938445920246'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/octopus.html' title='The Octopus'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TLuG39VHYCI/AAAAAAAAAGU/Ui7hKa9Ywdg/s72-c/octopus1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-5737291965670901559</id><published>2010-10-09T06:46:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-09T06:54:09.578-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas with the Grammers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TLBz-iVDOwI/AAAAAAAAAGM/oezp7uyZfCk/s1600/snowy_road.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5526044260987779842" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TLBz-iVDOwI/AAAAAAAAAGM/oezp7uyZfCk/s320/snowy_road.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The Grammers lived in Colorado and we went to visit them for Christmas. It started to snow and got very cold, but we were all snug inside the house. There was a dog giving birth to puppies, but no one thought the puppies would survive because it was so cold. They were in the house, but mom said we should put them in the refrigerator to keep them warm (???). At one point we were all riding in an old-fashioned car down a snowy road. Then it was Christmas morning and we got dressed up in Dr. Seuss costumes for all the kids. We blew a loud horn and they came running down the stairs to see us all standing in a circle singing like the Whos in Who-ville. Steve, who looked like Brooks Smith, was engaged to a really wealthy woman. Bill, who looked like Craig T. Nelson, drove into the living room in an old-fashioned convertible and then drove into the garage. He drove back into the room in a different car and crashed into a wall. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-5737291965670901559?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/5737291965670901559/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/christmas-with-grammers.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/5737291965670901559'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/5737291965670901559'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/christmas-with-grammers.html' title='Christmas with the Grammers'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TLBz-iVDOwI/AAAAAAAAAGM/oezp7uyZfCk/s72-c/snowy_road.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-646824712097515542</id><published>2010-10-08T15:06:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-10-08T15:11:53.654-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Walmart</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TK-XIldgYNI/AAAAAAAAAGE/rp4R8vuL3uw/s1600/walmart.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 209px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5525801441557504210" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TK-XIldgYNI/AAAAAAAAAGE/rp4R8vuL3uw/s320/walmart.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went shopping at Walmart and when I went to the parking lot, I couldn't find my car. I searched everywhere and finally came to the conclusion that it had been stolen. Mom and Susan were with me and I called 911 to report the theft. The 911 operator was very rude and hard to understand. He kept asking me a question that I just couldn't decipher, so I asked him to spell it for me. Exasperated, he said, "A-P-L . . ." but the word he spelled didn't make any sense. I handed the phone to mom to see if she could figure out what he was saying. All this time, we're wandering around the parking lot trying to figure out how we're going to get home. I was surprised when mom was very short with the operator and a little aggressive. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-646824712097515542?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/646824712097515542/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/walmart.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/646824712097515542'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/646824712097515542'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/10/walmart.html' title='Walmart'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TK-XIldgYNI/AAAAAAAAAGE/rp4R8vuL3uw/s72-c/walmart.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-5538695596711630930</id><published>2010-09-25T07:03:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-25T07:11:19.989-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Stuck in the Mud</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TJ4DAoo_fAI/AAAAAAAAAF8/aSpHMGFzvNg/s1600/drew-1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 226px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520853502647041026" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TJ4DAoo_fAI/AAAAAAAAAF8/aSpHMGFzvNg/s320/drew-1.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Lynne Clayton and I were at her house. We both worked at Jefferson and had to be there by 2:45 for a meeting. We were running late because we had been swimming. We finally got changed and she called Kathy to tell her we were on our way. We got in her car, which was a crazy-looking old van, and started driving to school. We came to a muddy dirt road and Lynne decided to try and drive through it. We were immediately stuck and started sinking. I knew we had to get out or we would drown in the mud. My leopard-skin seatbelt was very tight, and I was trying to keep myself from panicking as we sunk deeper and deeper. I finally got the seatbelt off and started rolling down the window. We both crawled out and stood on the side of the road looking at the half-submerged van. A group of kids walked up and ran out on to the mud slipping and sliding. I started to yell at them to stop, but then realized that they weren't going to sink. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-5538695596711630930?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/5538695596711630930/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/09/stuck-in-mud.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/5538695596711630930'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/5538695596711630930'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/09/stuck-in-mud.html' title='Stuck in the Mud'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TJ4DAoo_fAI/AAAAAAAAAF8/aSpHMGFzvNg/s72-c/drew-1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-6461891366775492782</id><published>2010-09-24T04:28:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-24T04:34:27.942-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Lil' Wayne</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TJyMvkI0-cI/AAAAAAAAAF0/pPlSCY7JImA/s1600/lil_wayne.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 182px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5520441992031828418" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TJyMvkI0-cI/AAAAAAAAAF0/pPlSCY7JImA/s320/lil_wayne.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I wrote a rap song that I wanted to record with Lil' Wayne, so I went to his house. He was standing in the driveway with a couple of friends, leaning on a pickup truck. He didn't look like the real Lil' Wayne - he was kind of Hispanic looking and very handsome. I was embarrassed to show him my rap, which was written on notebook paper and stuffed in my jeans pocket. He smiled at me and laughed and told me to come into the house with him and we could get down to business. He made a comment about me being "thick with a nice ass." His house was huge, with lots of rooms, and there were people everywhere. He led me upstairs into a bedroom where there were several couples having sex. I quickly backed out of the room and stood in an alcove, waiting for him. I peeked back into the room several times to see where he was, but he had disappeared. The people having sex didn't even notice me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-6461891366775492782?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/6461891366775492782/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/09/lil-wayne.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6461891366775492782'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6461891366775492782'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/09/lil-wayne.html' title='Lil&apos; Wayne'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TJyMvkI0-cI/AAAAAAAAAF0/pPlSCY7JImA/s72-c/lil_wayne.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-5390784726296221936</id><published>2010-09-03T06:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-03T06:24:37.682-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Sam and Rudy and Russ</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TID3DLQ9XOI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Hbzz19_5ndc/s1600/Sam+and+Rudy+(6).JPG"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5512677577837075682" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TID3DLQ9XOI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Hbzz19_5ndc/s320/Sam+and+Rudy+(6).JPG" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I lived in the house that David Gray is buying. The backyard was huge and had a lot of landscaping around the fenceline. I was walking around looking for places where Sam and Rudy could escape. I found some holes where they had been digging and put rocks there. Then I realized that they had already escaped and weren't in the yard with me. I saw them across the street playing with some other dogs. I called Rudy and he came running to me, but Sam was being pinned down to the ground by a big dog. I panicked and started running toward him. He jumped up and came to me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next, I was with Russ somewhere and we were fighting. I had a key to his house and I drove there with him following behind in his car. I ran into the house and was going from room to room, very upset. I saw stuff that said "honeymoon" on it and threw it our the window. I also saw a pair of earrings and put them on. He came into the house behind me and was trying to settle me down, but I was crying and screaming at him. I ran out to my car to leave and he followed me, asking for the earrings. I pulled them out and threw them into a field. I was backing out, trying to leave, but there was a lot of traffic and I couldn't get out. He was still standing there trying to talk to me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-5390784726296221936?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/5390784726296221936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/09/sam-and-rudy-and-russ.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/5390784726296221936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/5390784726296221936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/09/sam-and-rudy-and-russ.html' title='Sam and Rudy and Russ'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TID3DLQ9XOI/AAAAAAAAAFM/Hbzz19_5ndc/s72-c/Sam+and+Rudy+(6).JPG' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-3429282666049239358</id><published>2010-08-14T06:51:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-14T06:57:20.190-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Scary Man and the Sparks</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGagk_Uy5ZI/AAAAAAAAAE8/swIAhAGgT24/s1600/sparks.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 200px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505264151841400210" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGagk_Uy5ZI/AAAAAAAAAE8/swIAhAGgT24/s320/sparks.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in a bathroom in someone's house. There was a big, tall scary black man trying to get me and some other people. We heard him coming and I ducked into the shower. Suddenly the light fixture started showering hot sparks on us. The people in the room with me ran out under the sparks, but I pushed myself further back into the shower. The sparks stopped and I heard the man entering the bathroom. The space I was in was very small and I was sucking in my stomach and squeezing up against the wall, hoping he couldn't see me. He turned to chase after the other people and I stepped out and called to him. He came toward me and I grabbed him and started kissing him. I thought I could make him like me and forget about hurting us. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-3429282666049239358?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/3429282666049239358/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/scary-man-and-sparks.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3429282666049239358'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3429282666049239358'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/scary-man-and-sparks.html' title='The Scary Man and the Sparks'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGagk_Uy5ZI/AAAAAAAAAE8/swIAhAGgT24/s72-c/sparks.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-1933189591229421591</id><published>2010-08-14T06:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-03T06:26:21.643-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Marco and the Fried Fish</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGae5nuOAuI/AAAAAAAAAE0/B2e3wjngCsU/s1600/turquoise%2520water%2520whole%2520fried%2520fish.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 238px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505262307259581154" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGae5nuOAuI/AAAAAAAAAE0/B2e3wjngCsU/s320/turquoise%2520water%2520whole%2520fried%2520fish.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was at Marco's house with Susan. His house was a mess, but he was trying really hard to impress me. I was cleaning up his bedroom while he was in the kitchen making breakfast. He called me in to eat and the table was set with pretty plates and cloth napkins. I had fried a whole fish the night before and he was serving that with bacon and sausage. I told him that Susan was a vegetarian and he looked really crestfallen. I sat down and ate some bacon. We left the house and were walking down a dirt road in the snow. Suddenly I remembered Susan and asked him if she was still at his house. He told me that his roommates would take care of her. We walked a long way and then went back to the house. Susan was asleep in a bedroom. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-1933189591229421591?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/1933189591229421591/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/marco-and-fried-fish.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1933189591229421591'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1933189591229421591'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/marco-and-fried-fish.html' title='Marco and the Fried Fish'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGae5nuOAuI/AAAAAAAAAE0/B2e3wjngCsU/s72-c/turquoise%2520water%2520whole%2520fried%2520fish.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-3709622010192519173</id><published>2010-08-13T18:26:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-13T18:30:37.157-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Swingers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGXxqrGZNII/AAAAAAAAAEs/e6UOGMn1sbE/s1600/swinger-party-0309-lg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 252px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505071834956641410" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGXxqrGZNII/AAAAAAAAAEs/e6UOGMn1sbE/s320/swinger-party-0309-lg.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Heather Cook and her husband came over to my house for dinner. They casually revealed that they were swingers when Heather took off her shirt and paraded around topless. In my dream, I went to bed and told them they could sleep in the guest room. In reality, I woke up from my dream and actually had to check to the guest room to make sure they weren't there. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-3709622010192519173?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/3709622010192519173/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/swingers.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3709622010192519173'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3709622010192519173'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/swingers.html' title='Swingers'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGXxqrGZNII/AAAAAAAAAEs/e6UOGMn1sbE/s72-c/swinger-party-0309-lg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-1100836646070105080</id><published>2010-08-12T06:56:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-09-03T06:27:05.970-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Working at the Y</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGP_toFRF-I/AAAAAAAAAEk/x14AaKQ9x5o/s1600/ymca_logo.gif"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504524328895584226" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGP_toFRF-I/AAAAAAAAAEk/x14AaKQ9x5o/s320/ymca_logo.gif" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was working at the Y at the front desk. A Japanese man stepped up to the counter to enroll in swim lessons and Jenny passed him off to me. The man said something in Japanese to his friend, but I could tell he was mad that Jenny didn't want to help him. Jenny said to him, "You intimidate me and I don't want to mess up your account." He set a tray of candies on the counter and pushed it toward me. Most of the holes had a candy in them, but a few did not. I took that to mean that he wanted to enroll in swim lessons for all of the holes that had candy in them. Somehow I knew how they corresponded to the lessons we offered. I started enrolling him and Jenny pointed out the weird payments in his journal. I got all of the lessons entered and then he told me that the empty holes represented the lessons he wanted, not the full holes. I said, "It would have been nice if you'd told me that first." I left the front desk to go into the women's locker room. I changed into my swimsuit and got into the pool for a quick dip. As I was getting out of the pool I looked down and saw that my boobs were popping out of my suit and you could see my nipples. I went back into the locker room and noticed children everywhere. I started herding them out and telling parents that this locker room was only for women over 18. One woman had 6 kids with her and I said, "You did this last week and we told you the rules. You may not bring your children in here. You can use the family locker room. There are naked women in here!" It seemed like the more kids I got out of the locker room, the more they came in. I finally gave up and went back to the front desk in my swimsuit with my hair wet. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-1100836646070105080?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/1100836646070105080/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/working-at-y.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1100836646070105080'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1100836646070105080'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/working-at-y.html' title='Working at the Y'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGP_toFRF-I/AAAAAAAAAEk/x14AaKQ9x5o/s72-c/ymca_logo.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-6342395894899902913</id><published>2010-08-11T05:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-11T05:58:00.920-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Village Green</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGKeU_Hhj2I/AAAAAAAAAEc/A5tE1MgP1xs/s1600/vg.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 226px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5504135777977732962" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGKeU_Hhj2I/AAAAAAAAAEc/A5tE1MgP1xs/s320/vg.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in Ft. Collins visiting Village Green pool. It had been remodeled and was now an indoor pool. The tennis courts had been converted into a diving area. Very modern and nice, but I missed the old pool. I was talking to someone and asking them about the renovations, and they told me that the old pool was still there, it was just behind the new one. We walked around a corner and there it was! It was like seeing an old friend. Then I saw David Gray and said, "What are you doing here?" He told me he was coaching a team. I said, "This is my pool from when I was growing up!" He was surprised and let me show him around. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-6342395894899902913?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/6342395894899902913/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/village-green.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6342395894899902913'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6342395894899902913'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/village-green.html' title='Village Green'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TGKeU_Hhj2I/AAAAAAAAAEc/A5tE1MgP1xs/s72-c/vg.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-8002170654332978007</id><published>2010-08-08T08:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-08-08T08:57:22.861-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Travels in Russia</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TF7T2pIAWmI/AAAAAAAAAEU/ZRSRPVGHOrU/s1600/qinghai-landscape10.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5503068730399152738" border="0" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TF7T2pIAWmI/AAAAAAAAAEU/ZRSRPVGHOrU/s320/qinghai-landscape10.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;This dream is a compilation of thinking about Holly traveling around the world and reading about Ayla and Jondalar. I was in either Russia or Africa - it kept changing - and I was traveling with a group of people across a barren plain. We were walking. Very fuzzy, but I remember being captured and put into a giant net with other people. The net was lowered into a river inside a factory. There were dead people in the net and body parts floating by. A man was screaming to be let out. I told someone that I hated Russia. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-8002170654332978007?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/8002170654332978007/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/travels-in-russia.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8002170654332978007'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8002170654332978007'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/08/travels-in-russia.html' title='Travels in Russia'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TF7T2pIAWmI/AAAAAAAAAEU/ZRSRPVGHOrU/s72-c/qinghai-landscape10.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4571118796140581821</id><published>2010-07-09T07:02:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-09T07:21:06.900-07:00</updated><title type='text'>High School/Hotel Maze</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TDcwDzRfCRI/AAAAAAAAAEM/xmgd88OIXRw/s1600/ce-210.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 241px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491911112462895378" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TDcwDzRfCRI/AAAAAAAAAEM/xmgd88OIXRw/s320/ce-210.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was back in high school but it wasn't Pampa High. I was in a classroom and Scottie Miller was at the front of the room reading a part from a Reader's Theater. His part was a gay man and he was making fun of it and acting grossed out. Students were raising their hands and making comments. I stood up and told him that he was being very offensive, that no one thought he was gay, and that he should stop being so immature and just read the part. Cason Crabtree was in the class and he stood up and left the room. The teacher called his reading group to the table and I told her I would go find him. I said, "He can't read! He needs to be here for his reading group!" Then mom walked into the room and over to Susan's desk. She started giving a lecture on nutrition and used Susan as her example of someone with good eating habits. Then she said something about how I eat too much cheese and I stood up to leave. She told me not to come back. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Suddenly I found myself checking into a hotel room for some sort of conference. The hotel was huge and was attached to a grocery store. I got to my room and had to punch in a code to open the door - 3500. I put my things away and left the room to go attend the conference. As I was walking, I looked down and saw that I only had on socks and had forgotten to put on shoes. I walked up a staircase to get back to my room, but found myself in the grocery store. I came across a large vending machine that I had to crawl through to get to my room. As I was hoisting my leg up and through a small window, a male teacher came up behind me laughing and told me that I didn't have to use the vending machine. He led me back into the hotel and we found what I thought was my room, but the code wouldn't work. I began walking through a maze of hallways and into a Mexican restaurant that looked like Casa Bonita. They weren't open for business yet, and all of the employees were standing around in the dining room. I was becoming so frustrated that I couldn't find my room and I woke up saying, "I just want to find my room! Please help me find my room!"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4571118796140581821?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4571118796140581821/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/07/high-schoolhotel-maze.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4571118796140581821'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4571118796140581821'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/07/high-schoolhotel-maze.html' title='High School/Hotel Maze'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TDcwDzRfCRI/AAAAAAAAAEM/xmgd88OIXRw/s72-c/ce-210.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-6737963131454686340</id><published>2010-07-07T07:37:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-07-07T07:42:09.160-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Proposal</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TDSSKW7CqnI/AAAAAAAAAEE/t_ZB1hkWbxM/s1600/pearl_engagement_rings07.png"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 228px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 228px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491174552321043058" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TDSSKW7CqnI/AAAAAAAAAEE/t_ZB1hkWbxM/s320/pearl_engagement_rings07.png" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in an audience watching my boyfriend give a speech. He was an NBA player and was receiving some kind of award. I was sitting in the front row next to my friends. In the middle of his speech, he stopped and said that he had something important to announce. He pulled a ring out of his pocket and asked me to marry him. I started crying uncontrollably and put the ring on my right hand. It was a circle with a pearly middle, surrounded by diamonds. All of my friends were really excited about the ring, but I didn't really care. I couldn't believe that I was actually going to get married. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-6737963131454686340?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/6737963131454686340/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/07/proposal.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6737963131454686340'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6737963131454686340'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/07/proposal.html' title='The Proposal'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TDSSKW7CqnI/AAAAAAAAAEE/t_ZB1hkWbxM/s72-c/pearl_engagement_rings07.png' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-5623555245569435174</id><published>2010-06-21T06:24:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T06:33:27.915-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Hotel Court</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TB9qIcgSplI/AAAAAAAAAD8/7WAjdizGaGM/s1600/hotel-room.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 214px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5485219564483683922" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TB9qIcgSplI/AAAAAAAAAD8/7WAjdizGaGM/s320/hotel-room.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Russ and I were staying in a hotel. Our room had two queen size beds and an Asian couple was sleeping in one of them. In the morning, a maid came into our room and said she would have to take us to hotel court for having too many people in our room. We were all in bed and I started to protest, but then she saw Russ rolling a blunt and I knew we would have to go with her. We all followed her down to the lobby to hotel court. We were in a room with a bunch of other people and most of their cases were dismissed. Then we had to follow her to a second room where the judge was. There were student desks for us to sit in while we waited our turn. As I sat, I looked down and noticed a bag of weed sitting in the chair. I deduced that someone had left it there so they wouldn't get caught with it on their person when they went before the judge. I sat on top of it and whispered to Russ, "Look!" He had a bag of weed on top of the desk and was sifting through it. "What are you doing?" I exclaimed. "Do you want to go to hotel jail?"&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-5623555245569435174?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/5623555245569435174/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/06/hotel-court.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/5623555245569435174'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/5623555245569435174'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/06/hotel-court.html' title='Hotel Court'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TB9qIcgSplI/AAAAAAAAAD8/7WAjdizGaGM/s72-c/hotel-room.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-316135672508846872</id><published>2010-06-19T12:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-21T06:34:30.914-07:00</updated><title type='text'>My Name is Diane, and I'm a Prostitute</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TB0W-vVWpKI/AAAAAAAAAD0/6j29NE0g3lA/s1600/prostitute1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 310px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5484565188320863394" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TB0W-vVWpKI/AAAAAAAAAD0/6j29NE0g3lA/s320/prostitute1.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was a prostitute who charged $20 for 20 minutes. My first client was a tall, skinny white man. He was a little nervous, but I was completely confident and told him he could have whatever he wanted as long as it lasted only 20 minutes. I walked toward him and pushed him back onto the bed. I unzipped his jeans and pulled out his penis. As it got hard, it got longer and longer. I had to back up about 3 feet from him to be able to put it in my mouth. I said, "You've got to be kidding me!" He couldn't believe that I was able to deep-throat him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-316135672508846872?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/316135672508846872/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/06/my-name-is-diane-and-im-prostitute.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/316135672508846872'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/316135672508846872'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/06/my-name-is-diane-and-im-prostitute.html' title='My Name is Diane, and I&apos;m a Prostitute'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TB0W-vVWpKI/AAAAAAAAAD0/6j29NE0g3lA/s72-c/prostitute1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-8000317477758066865</id><published>2010-06-16T06:49:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-16T06:54:09.304-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pit Beef Sandwiches with Tiger Sauce</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TBjXYqjtxoI/AAAAAAAAADs/n-ueMN8ciXk/s1600/pitbeef_004.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5483369365064500866" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TBjXYqjtxoI/AAAAAAAAADs/n-ueMN8ciXk/s320/pitbeef_004.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Watched Man v. Food before I went to bed and dreamed about pit beef sandwiches all night long. Also dreamed about Italian beef sandwiches dipped in au jus, dripping wet and delicious. Long, steamy Italian rolls and oily giardinera danced in the background. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-8000317477758066865?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/8000317477758066865/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/06/pit-beef-sandwiches-with-tiger-sauce.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8000317477758066865'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8000317477758066865'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/06/pit-beef-sandwiches-with-tiger-sauce.html' title='Pit Beef Sandwiches with Tiger Sauce'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TBjXYqjtxoI/AAAAAAAAADs/n-ueMN8ciXk/s72-c/pitbeef_004.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-7327145076549312811</id><published>2010-06-07T06:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-06-07T07:09:23.961-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Killer in the Courtroom</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TAz9hI71eNI/AAAAAAAAADk/0W4c02c_QMI/s1600/child_gun.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 271px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 238px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5480033592379013330" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TAz9hI71eNI/AAAAAAAAADk/0W4c02c_QMI/s320/child_gun.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Journey Houck was in a custody hearing with his siblings. The judge was a very large old man with a thick gray beard and glasses. When the judge ruled that they could not stay with their parents and would become wards of the state, Journey pulled out a machine gun and shot and killed the judge along with several other innocent bystanders. The videotape of Journey shooting the judge was broadcast all over the country and people were shocked at what they saw. Journey had somehow escaped the courtroom and was on the run. I was at school teaching and heard about this on the news. When Journey walked into the classroom, I couldn't believe he was there. I welcomed him like I normally would and he sat down in our circle for class meeting. Another teacher came into the room and I whispered to her that this was the kid they were searching for. We quietly started planning an evacuation. The school morphed into a ship and I was trying to evacuate all 400 kids without Journey figuring out what was going on. I was very afraid of Journey and didn't want him to know that I knew what he had done. I was herding kids onto boats and pushing the boats away from the ship. Journey was sitting by himself and was very upset. I was still afraid of him, but I realized that he was just a child and I tried to sit with him and confort him. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-7327145076549312811?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/7327145076549312811/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/06/killer-in-courtroom.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7327145076549312811'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7327145076549312811'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/06/killer-in-courtroom.html' title='Killer in the Courtroom'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/TAz9hI71eNI/AAAAAAAAADk/0W4c02c_QMI/s72-c/child_gun.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-1438855460026735351</id><published>2010-05-26T04:13:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-05-26T04:18:08.764-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Matthew McConaughey</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S_0DZ31z7oI/AAAAAAAAADc/szn6Fo1a7l4/s1600/Matthew%2520McConaughey.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 218px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5475536464973655682" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S_0DZ31z7oI/AAAAAAAAADc/szn6Fo1a7l4/s320/Matthew%2520McConaughey.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in a house with a bunch of women, including Holly. We were sitting around talking when Matthew McConaughey walked in. Some people already knew him. He sat beside me on the floor and we started talking about dogs. Then he leaned over and kissed me and we started making out. His lips were very soft. He got up and left the room and Holly looked over at me and said, "What the hell?" I couldn't believe it either!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-1438855460026735351?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/1438855460026735351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/05/matthew-mcconaughey.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1438855460026735351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1438855460026735351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/05/matthew-mcconaughey.html' title='Matthew McConaughey'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S_0DZ31z7oI/AAAAAAAAADc/szn6Fo1a7l4/s72-c/Matthew%2520McConaughey.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-68955016574314075</id><published>2010-04-17T11:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-17T11:39:41.735-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Baseball with Obama</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S8oAZyJQTgI/AAAAAAAAADU/d08FsT3k6gY/s1600/_Obama_baseball_55890160RB015_ALCS_Los_Ange_m.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 202px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461177941097467394" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S8oAZyJQTgI/AAAAAAAAADU/d08FsT3k6gY/s320/_Obama_baseball_55890160RB015_ALCS_Los_Ange_m.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I won tickets to a baseball game that I really wasn't interested in until I looked at the tickets and realized that my seat was right in front of President Obama. I went to the game and was escorted up to a luxurious skybox with beautiful curtains fluttering in the breeze. Behind the curtains, I saw Asian women giving massages. President Obama took my arm and walked me to my seat. I sat down amongst a group of celebrities to watch the game. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-68955016574314075?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/68955016574314075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/04/baseball-with-obama.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/68955016574314075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/68955016574314075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/04/baseball-with-obama.html' title='Baseball with Obama'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S8oAZyJQTgI/AAAAAAAAADU/d08FsT3k6gY/s72-c/_Obama_baseball_55890160RB015_ALCS_Los_Ange_m.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-1010440818301241064</id><published>2010-04-10T10:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-10T11:00:01.067-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Chili on a Bicycle</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S8C8dj_Iw8I/AAAAAAAAADM/p4BnS6KUcfQ/s1600/chili.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 237px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5458569964435325890" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S8C8dj_Iw8I/AAAAAAAAADM/p4BnS6KUcfQ/s320/chili.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in a big city near a football stadium. Lisa Linke was working in a library and I worked with her. Russ was somewhere nearby and he called and told me he wanted me to bring him some of my chili. I put it in a bowl and got on my bike to take it to him. It was really hard trying to ride a bike while balancing a bowl of chili and I ended up dropping the bowl. Chili went everywhere, including all over my cell phone. I was trying to call Russ but my phone wouldn't work because it was covered in chili.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-1010440818301241064?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/1010440818301241064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/04/chili-on-bicycle.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1010440818301241064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1010440818301241064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/04/chili-on-bicycle.html' title='Chili on a Bicycle'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S8C8dj_Iw8I/AAAAAAAAADM/p4BnS6KUcfQ/s72-c/chili.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-6706507148365809544</id><published>2010-04-04T07:27:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2010-04-04T07:40:04.494-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Pregnant</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S7iktSmuALI/AAAAAAAAADE/sKvscrZ1C1k/s1600/pregnant-woman.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 175px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456292046554661042" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S7iktSmuALI/AAAAAAAAADE/sKvscrZ1C1k/s320/pregnant-woman.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went to the hospital to find out if I was pregnant and they told me that I was. They wanted to induce labor, even though I didn't think I was ready yet. I had only gained 5 lbs. and thought I still had several months to go. There were lots of other women there who were all about to give birth and it was like an assembly line to get into a delivery room. Amy was with me and she said I should call Russ and my parents. I called Russ, but I was really nervous to tell my parents. I finally did and they came to the hospital. Dad was ok, but mom was really mad and disappointed. She said that I had ruined their plans to move to Georgia. The dream went on and on with me waiting to deliver and mom being mad at me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-6706507148365809544?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/6706507148365809544/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/04/pregnant.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6706507148365809544'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6706507148365809544'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/04/pregnant.html' title='Pregnant'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S7iktSmuALI/AAAAAAAAADE/sKvscrZ1C1k/s72-c/pregnant-woman.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-1157372774889632395</id><published>2010-03-16T06:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-03-16T06:44:41.142-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Death and a Black Woman</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S5-LM1oHuuI/AAAAAAAAAC8/bn5y1ZjOCFo/s1600-h/article-1083348-025ED457000005DC-986_233x318.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 233px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 318px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449227126811638498" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S5-LM1oHuuI/AAAAAAAAAC8/bn5y1ZjOCFo/s320/article-1083348-025ED457000005DC-986_233x318.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;A relative of mine, an old black woman, was having her 99th birthday party. It made sense in the dream for the party to have a George Washington theme. When I arrived at the party, everyone had on long, curly, white, powdered wigs and the house was decorated in red, white, and blue. The woman was sitting on a couch and I sat down next to her. We were at Grandmother Kathleen's house and she started showing me places around door jambs where I had penciled little notes throughout my life. Most of them were dated, so I knew when I had written them. I cuddled up next to her and laid my head on her shoulder. A guy came by with a camera and said, "That makes the perfect picture!" He shot a couple, then started rearranging my hair and positioning me just so. I was sad because I knew the woman was going to die soon and I was going to miss her. I asked her what she thought was going to happen when she died. She told me something about Jesus, and I said that I wished she could come tell me where she was after she passed away. I cried and hugged her. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-1157372774889632395?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/1157372774889632395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/03/death-and-black-woman.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1157372774889632395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/1157372774889632395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/03/death-and-black-woman.html' title='Death and a Black Woman'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S5-LM1oHuuI/AAAAAAAAAC8/bn5y1ZjOCFo/s72-c/article-1083348-025ED457000005DC-986_233x318.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-482863450903539567</id><published>2010-03-12T04:33:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-03-12T04:40:11.284-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Ben Affleck</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S5o2JWaK3XI/AAAAAAAAAC0/uE2wZ_PuBD8/s1600-h/ben.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 238px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447726233520102770" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S5o2JWaK3XI/AAAAAAAAAC0/uE2wZ_PuBD8/s320/ben.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in a house with Ben Affleck and we were sitting at a table having a conversation. He was very amused by me and we started flirting. I knew he was married and had two kids and I didn't want to break that up, but we were very attracted to one another. He went to the bathroom and I walked around his living room looking at pictures. He finally came out and told me he had stopped up the toilet. I helped him unclog it. We were laughing hysterically and having a good time. I left and walked to a bridge going over a river. Some kind of explosion had occurred and the ground was scorched. There were ambulances and police officers everywhere. I started walking back to Ben's and then saw him coming toward me in a van with Matt Damon. He leaned out the window and gave me a high five, telling me how much fun he had had with me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-482863450903539567?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/482863450903539567/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/03/ben-affleck.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/482863450903539567'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/482863450903539567'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/03/ben-affleck.html' title='Ben Affleck'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S5o2JWaK3XI/AAAAAAAAAC0/uE2wZ_PuBD8/s72-c/ben.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-3958720869175547972</id><published>2010-01-30T06:50:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-30T07:05:38.658-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Abraham Lincoln's Home</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S2RKvFYXh8I/AAAAAAAAACs/-dkKzzzGbx0/s1600-h/08febthree011.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 212px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5432549223274350530" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S2RKvFYXh8I/AAAAAAAAACs/-dkKzzzGbx0/s320/08febthree011.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The dream started with me, mom, dad, Susan, and Russ all in the car going somewhere. Mom insisted that we stop at 7-11 so she could get me some cream for a rash I had. She couldn't find any, so while everyone else was shopping, she asked me to get in the car with her and drive down the street to Walgreens. I felt weird about leaving everyone at 7-11, but she said we would be right back and they would never know we were gone. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next, I was with Laurel and we were pulling up to an old house. We went inside and started snooping around. We found a secret passage in a closet and had to climb through on our hands and knees. We kept following the path through a cave and it led us past waterfalls. Then we had to crawl across a very narrow beam that led us outside again. It was like stepping back in time. There were old buildings and houses and dirt roads. We walked up to one of the houses and two little girls came out to greet us. They were very friendly, but were dressed like they were from the 1800s. When we asked questions about where they went to school, they didn't say anything. They took us inside the house and we realized that it was Abraham Lincoln's house. Everything was set up as if it were a museum and we couldn't believe all the wonderful things we were seeing. There was a closet full of clothes and I said, "This would be great for Halloween!" The girls led us back outside and we sat down at a wooden table. An old woman came out carrying a plate of pull-apart bread. We all started eating. The bread was sweet and sticky and delicious. Linda Belau walked up and sat down with us and asked Laurel and I how we had found this place. She already knew about it because she had been shooting a movie there the day before. We told her we had found the secret passage. She was carrying a package of Twinkies and offered some to the old lady and the two little girls. They each took a bite, but they were awful compared to the pull-apart bread. Linda apologized and said something about all the preservatives used in foods in the future. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-3958720869175547972?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/3958720869175547972/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/01/abraham-lincolns-home.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3958720869175547972'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3958720869175547972'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/01/abraham-lincolns-home.html' title='Abraham Lincoln&apos;s Home'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S2RKvFYXh8I/AAAAAAAAACs/-dkKzzzGbx0/s72-c/08febthree011.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4185546996701047161</id><published>2010-01-24T07:30:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-28T15:06:23.154-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Anthony Bourdain</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S1xpyDF9_sI/AAAAAAAAACk/av8VLlHYn90/s1600-h/blog-bourdain-rock-star.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 240px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5430331559246692034" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S1xpyDF9_sI/AAAAAAAAACk/av8VLlHYn90/s320/blog-bourdain-rock-star.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was at the Village Green pool swimming with friends, but I had to work at the Y at 1:00. I decided to go in late and was trying to make a phone call on a payphone. There was a bank of phones outside the pool office, but I couldn't get my call to go through. A guy was trying to help me, but he'd never used a payphone before and had no idea what he was doing. Every time I placed the call, it would call someone that had just called the front desk at the Y. I finally gave up and decided that they would just have to wait for me to get there at 4:00. Anthony Bourdain was a lifeguard. I didn't have my car with me at the pool and needed to go home and get work clothes. I asked Anthony if I could borrow his car. He was hesitant, but then tossed me the keys. He drove an old, beat up pick-up. I went home and got my clothes, then drove back to the pool. Then I realized that I didn't have a way to get to work. I asked him what time he got off to see if he could drive me to the Y. He told me that he didn't think he'd be able to get his truck out of the mud. I told him that I'd parked in the parking lot, not in the mud, but he said he had moved it. I looked outside and saw his truck in what can only be described as a mud cave. It was like a big pile of mud that he had pulled his truck into, with the rear end sticking out. I decided I'd have to walk to the Y and started getting all of my stuff together. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4185546996701047161?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4185546996701047161/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/01/anthony-bourdains-car.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4185546996701047161'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4185546996701047161'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/01/anthony-bourdains-car.html' title='Anthony Bourdain'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S1xpyDF9_sI/AAAAAAAAACk/av8VLlHYn90/s72-c/blog-bourdain-rock-star.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-7520959787039784069</id><published>2010-01-22T04:37:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-22T04:40:44.235-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Fucking Longhorns!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S1mcxn3mcLI/AAAAAAAAACc/EuqWKVmzHyk/s1600-h/dm_090905_CFB_McCoyBradford.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 180px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5429543202101555378" border="0" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S1mcxn3mcLI/AAAAAAAAACc/EuqWKVmzHyk/s320/dm_090905_CFB_McCoyBradford.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Colt McCoy, Sam Bradford, and I were in a restaurant discussing football. I was explaining to Colt that although I thought he was an excellent football player and I had nothing against his team, I couldn't stand fucking Texas fans! He just smiled in agreement with me and said, "Yes, they are pretty awful." &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-7520959787039784069?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/7520959787039784069/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/01/fucking-longhorns.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7520959787039784069'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7520959787039784069'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/01/fucking-longhorns.html' title='Fucking Longhorns!'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S1mcxn3mcLI/AAAAAAAAACc/EuqWKVmzHyk/s72-c/dm_090905_CFB_McCoyBradford.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-17609104278971874</id><published>2010-01-16T13:38:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2010-01-16T13:44:24.071-08:00</updated><title type='text'>River with the Grammers</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S1IzMWX88mI/AAAAAAAAACU/KlYKGfKZ8j4/s1600-h/treehouse_01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 293px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 320px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427456788192359010" border="0" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S1IzMWX88mI/AAAAAAAAACU/KlYKGfKZ8j4/s320/treehouse_01.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Susan and I were visiting Mike and Steve. They lived in an amazing treehouse with many levels on the banks of a river. We climbed up and up and Steve showed us the latest level he had added. We decided to float the river so I changed into a swimsuit and dove into the river. They had inner tubes for us to lay in as we floated. Susan jumped in with no clothes on. As I was floating by her, I grabbed her hand and pulled her into my tube. She sat on my lap and I said, "You really should put some clothes on."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-17609104278971874?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/17609104278971874/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/01/river-with-grammers.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/17609104278971874'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/17609104278971874'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2010/01/river-with-grammers.html' title='River with the Grammers'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/S1IzMWX88mI/AAAAAAAAACU/KlYKGfKZ8j4/s72-c/treehouse_01.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-8335696709204081004</id><published>2009-11-08T08:23:00.001-08:00</published><updated>2009-11-08T08:33:34.773-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Giada</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Svby1nLCHeI/AAAAAAAAACM/2qfjgAa3I4s/s1600-h/giada_de_laurentiis_sobe1.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5401771805939736034" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 214px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Svby1nLCHeI/AAAAAAAAACM/2qfjgAa3I4s/s320/giada_de_laurentiis_sobe1.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in New Orleans looking for a place to live. I went to an apartment owned by Giada De Laurentis and she was showing me around. It was in the French Quarter and was classic New Orleans. The apartment had living quarters on one side of a courtyard and a small restaurant on the other. Giada was telling me how easy it was to run the restaurant and how much I would love living in New Orleans. Suddenly I was with Laurel and others from Ft. Collins and we were white-water rafting down a river. Darkness set in and it was very hard to see where we were going and to navigate around the rocks. I got scared and pulled over onto a sandy shoreline. I decided to go back to the apartment Giada had shown me and look at it again. Susan and one of her friends were with me and we had decided to move in together. We were talking over the logistics because the living quarters were quite small. Giada had told me that the rent was only $540 per month and I just couldn't see how I could pass up such a deal. Plus, I would finally realize my dream of owning my own restaurant. I was just worried that I wouldn't know how to run the restaurant and I really wanted someone I trusted to go into business with me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-8335696709204081004?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/8335696709204081004/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/11/giada.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8335696709204081004'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/8335696709204081004'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/11/giada.html' title='Giada'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Svby1nLCHeI/AAAAAAAAACM/2qfjgAa3I4s/s72-c/giada_de_laurentiis_sobe1.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4948696813117512714</id><published>2009-10-31T09:54:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-10-31T10:01:12.631-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Who's the Daddy?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SuxtUjyUVSI/AAAAAAAAACE/_zZu1o6SmEU/s1600-h/blonde+beard.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5398810253281482018" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 236px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SuxtUjyUVSI/AAAAAAAAACE/_zZu1o6SmEU/s320/blonde+beard.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I went on a trip to Colorado in a bus with a bunch of people. Most of the dream is a blur, but I remember two guys, one of whom had a blonde beard. I had had sex with both of them and was pregnant, but didn't know which one was the father. I had on a green sweater and was laying on my back in the bus. They were sitting next to me and I kept rubbing my belly. I told them the baby was due in July and we could find out then who the father was. They both looked at me so longingly, hoping that it was their baby. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4948696813117512714?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4948696813117512714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/10/whos-daddy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4948696813117512714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4948696813117512714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/10/whos-daddy.html' title='Who&apos;s the Daddy?'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SuxtUjyUVSI/AAAAAAAAACE/_zZu1o6SmEU/s72-c/blonde+beard.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4097638659890308266</id><published>2009-09-26T06:16:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2010-01-24T07:43:27.180-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Snowboarding School</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sr4X2B7EVdI/AAAAAAAAAB8/pXDzXGbTH5o/s1600-h/vail-mountain-lodge.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; FLOAT: left; HEIGHT: 240px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385768421378250194" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sr4X2B7EVdI/AAAAAAAAAB8/pXDzXGbTH5o/s320/vail-mountain-lodge.jpg" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was going to compete at a swim meet in Colorado in the 100 IM. I was very excited and knew I was going to win. Russ showed up in a suit and tie and I was happy he was there to support me. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;All of a sudden I was in Vail. Mom and dad had gone with me because I was deciding whether or not to go to snowboarding school there. First I went to an indoor training facility where all of the snowboarders were playing dodgeball. At first I was just standing there watching, but then someone threw a ball at me and I joined in. I realized they were testing me to see how good I was, and I started throwing balls at everyone, knocking people down with my strength. They were very surprised at how well I played. Then I went to a huge house owned by the snowboarding coach where all of the snowboarders lived. The house was like a ski lodge and I was wandering through it looking at all of the rooms. I was the only female snowboarder, but I thought it would be kind of fun to live with a bunch of guys. The house had 10 bedrooms and 10 bathrooms. The coach showed me which bed was available, and it was in a nook next to the stairs, with no door. The bathtub was dirty. In exchange for getting to live in the house for free, the snowboarders had to agree to work at Raising Cane's, a restaurant the coach owned in downtown Vail. The coach's wife came to talk to me to see how I felt about the arrangement. She was blonde and wore a lot of makeup. She had a hairy lip and when she leaned close to me to whisper something in my ear, I felt her moustache against my cheek and it grossed me out. I was laying on a bed talking to the guys. One guy was sitting at the foot of the bed and I accidentally farted. It didn't make a sound, but it rattled the bed, and he got up and left the room. No one else noticed. I went to Raising Cane's to observe the working environment. The cashier was pissed off at a customer who had left a drink sitting on the counter, leaving a wet ring. I was very interested in joining the snowboarding team, but I didn't think I could handle working at Raising Cane's. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4097638659890308266?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4097638659890308266/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/09/snowboarding-school.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4097638659890308266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4097638659890308266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/09/snowboarding-school.html' title='Snowboarding School'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sr4X2B7EVdI/AAAAAAAAAB8/pXDzXGbTH5o/s72-c/vail-mountain-lodge.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-3353076160535918945</id><published>2009-09-20T08:09:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:30:50.639-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Scary Middle Eastern Men</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SrZHvW-rS8I/AAAAAAAAABs/N_v6BSaNf9A/s1600-h/men.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383569283515894722" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 112px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 168px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SrZHvW-rS8I/AAAAAAAAABs/N_v6BSaNf9A/s320/men.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Holly was having a birthday party. I was trying to leave early because I was so tired, but she wanted me to stay. Sarah showed up late and that really made me want to leave. Holly and I got in her car and she started driving crazy fast. We were out in the country and she was going up and down hills and through streams. We finally stopped and got out of the car. She led me up to a hilltop where there was a chicken coop and some other little buildings. We were snooping around, trying to be quiet when we heard some men come out of a house. We hid behind a tree, but they saw us. They were Middle Eastern men and they had some kind of weapons in their hands. They started yelling at us and I tried to run away, but they caught me. Holly and I started telling them how much we liked hummus and falafel, thinking this would persuade them not to kill us. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-3353076160535918945?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/3353076160535918945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/09/91909.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3353076160535918945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3353076160535918945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/09/91909.html' title='Scary Middle Eastern Men'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SrZHvW-rS8I/AAAAAAAAABs/N_v6BSaNf9A/s72-c/men.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-7882368849941449593</id><published>2009-09-18T04:13:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:25:39.227-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Phyll Starmata</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SrNtw2Tj5QI/AAAAAAAAABk/z6XF3MKLN8s/s1600-h/dreads.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5382766665616581890" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 252px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SrNtw2Tj5QI/AAAAAAAAABk/z6XF3MKLN8s/s320/dreads.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Susan, mom, dad, and I were on the cul-de-sac in Austin. A group of black guys arrived in a car. One of them was Derek, the cute basketball guy from the Y. One of the other guys had dreadlocks and seemed to be older than Susan and I. His name was Phyll Starmata. He and Susan took a liking to each other and went off on their merry way. Derek and I spent some time together and then he left. Susan came running up to me excitedly, holding up her hand and shouting, "I'm engaged!" She had on a little diamond ring. She told me that she and Phyll were getting married. It made me mad that she would be so stupid to get engaged to a guy on the same day she met him. I asked her why he happened to have an engagement ring so handy and she burst into tears. "Why can't you just be happy for me?" she shouted. I spent the rest of the dream trying to hook up with Derek. We kept texting each other, but there was something wrong with his phone and I could only read parts of his messages. We all went to a neighborhood pool together and went swimming. I had on a black swimsuit and my body looked great. I really wanted Derek to see me. Susan and Phyll were hugging and kissing and I was completely disgusted. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-7882368849941449593?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/7882368849941449593/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/09/91709.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7882368849941449593'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7882368849941449593'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/09/91709.html' title='Phyll Starmata'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SrNtw2Tj5QI/AAAAAAAAABk/z6XF3MKLN8s/s72-c/dreads.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-2136226842680791909</id><published>2009-09-02T04:37:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-26T06:36:38.870-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mall Reunion</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SrZINZsihqI/AAAAAAAAAB0/BZ2hzPfBE7A/s1600-h/mall.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5383569799641204386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 238px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SrZINZsihqI/AAAAAAAAAB0/BZ2hzPfBE7A/s320/mall.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Russ and I were at my high school reunion, but it was at Lori Smith's house in Ft. Collins. She lived in a really big house right next to the mall. We were sitting at a bar upstairs and I got into a conversation with someone about why Russ had a ring and I didn't. Russ was very supportive and kept his arm around me, telling people that we were married. I told them why I kept my last name, and he hugged and kissed me. I had a cute haircut and lots of people were surprised and happy to see me. Ricky Wren came up to me and said, "It was so nice to see you again Diane." Then we were in a football stadium having a group picture taken on the bleachers. All the girls were trying to look sexy. After the picture was taken, Lori started telling us that if we wanted to purchase a copy, it would be $400 each. A bunch of us stood up and left at that point. Russ and I walked downstairs through a hallway and out into a parking lot, then into the mall. I said, "Wow, she really does live right next door to a mall."&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-2136226842680791909?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/2136226842680791909/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/09/9109.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2136226842680791909'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2136226842680791909'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/09/9109.html' title='Mall Reunion'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SrZINZsihqI/AAAAAAAAAB0/BZ2hzPfBE7A/s72-c/mall.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-3260338716436500256</id><published>2009-08-09T07:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:26:26.645-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Sex Tape and the Lightning</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sn7k_elvoKI/AAAAAAAAABc/pWYPr5AcbH8/s1600-h/lightning.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5367979585066475682" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 197px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sn7k_elvoKI/AAAAAAAAABc/pWYPr5AcbH8/s320/lightning.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was a teacher at a school with Reuben Mosqueda. We had made a sex video that I kept in a box in my closet. I told Reuben I hadn't looked at it in years and couldn't remember what we had done. Reuben said that all he remembered was that I couldn't get enough of him. He asked me if he could tell people he was my boyfriend. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Next, I was floating in a lake or ocean on a little boat. Laurel and Susan were there with lots of other people. We were close to the shore and there was some type of celebration going on. Really cool lightning kept lighting up the sky and I was trying to get Susan to watch it. Every time she turned around the lightning disappeared and she got mad. Then I saw volcanoes erupting in the distance. Huge plumes of lava shot into the air. Laurel and I got into the water and started swimming. She told me that Rich had been to a convention and cheated on her. They were separating because he wouldn't come clean with all the details. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-3260338716436500256?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/3260338716436500256/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-was-teacher-at-school-with-reuben.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3260338716436500256'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3260338716436500256'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-was-teacher-at-school-with-reuben.html' title='The Sex Tape and the Lightning'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sn7k_elvoKI/AAAAAAAAABc/pWYPr5AcbH8/s72-c/lightning.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-7948097457493815307</id><published>2009-07-25T06:44:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:26:47.293-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Leaking Pad</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SmsNsr_xtTI/AAAAAAAAABU/yw5zn4BhJVs/s1600-h/Blood_Spatter.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362394842690336050" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 209px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SmsNsr_xtTI/AAAAAAAAABU/yw5zn4BhJVs/s320/Blood_Spatter.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was on a bus with a bunch of women. I think we were on a basketball trip. I had on white sweatpants and I started my period. For some reason, I was using a pad instead of a tampon and I leaked everywhere. I had blood running down my leg. I was embarrassed and was trying to get to a bathroom to change. There was a bathroom on the bus with a see-through curtain. I stepped behind it and tried taking off my clothes, but I was really sweaty and they were sticking to me. The bus had been in a roll-over accident earlier that day so the toilet had spilled everywhere. It was really gross and I was trying to avoid stepping in shit. I had to go back out to get new sweats from my bag, but there was someone asleep and she was using my bag as a pillow. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-7948097457493815307?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/7948097457493815307/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/07/72409.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7948097457493815307'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/7948097457493815307'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/07/72409.html' title='Leaking Pad'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SmsNsr_xtTI/AAAAAAAAABU/yw5zn4BhJVs/s72-c/Blood_Spatter.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-4981649811193249201</id><published>2009-07-14T07:22:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:27:01.253-07:00</updated><title type='text'>The Goat</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SlyWFXyHqlI/AAAAAAAAABM/DldAjL7StFs/s1600-h/goat.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5358322675691792978" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 240px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SlyWFXyHqlI/AAAAAAAAABM/DldAjL7StFs/s320/goat.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I got home from a vacation with mom and dad. The walls of my house were bulging in different places from water damage. I couldn't figure out where the leak was coming from. I pulled out my washer from the wall to look behind it and there was a goat laying on the floor, curled up on a towel. I was startled and pulled my hand back quickly. "Poor little goat," I thought. "He probably needs something to eat and drink." As I was trying to find something for the goat, I called mom to see if she and dad would stop by my house on their way home so they could help me figure out the water damage. Mom said they were already on the road and had had to leave at 5:00 that morning. They lived somewhere on the east coast. She said they were carrying lots of meat in the car with them and they had to let it cool down to retain its flavor. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-4981649811193249201?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/4981649811193249201/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-got-home-from-vacation-with-mom-and.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4981649811193249201'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/4981649811193249201'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/07/i-got-home-from-vacation-with-mom-and.html' title='The Goat'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SlyWFXyHqlI/AAAAAAAAABM/DldAjL7StFs/s72-c/goat.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-5384568883306601908</id><published>2009-07-03T06:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:27:36.018-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Unhappy Vacation</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sk4R09tMgXI/AAAAAAAAABE/DSSV0Ntj9NQ/s1600-h/hotel.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5354236608605094258" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 274px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sk4R09tMgXI/AAAAAAAAABE/DSSV0Ntj9NQ/s320/hotel.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was on vacation with a bunch of people. We were staying at a resort hotel in adjoining rooms. Sam and Rudy were with me, but Sam ran off and we couldn't find him. Dad was there and he was trying to help me find Sam. We were calling him and walking around. We finally gave up and were sitting somewhere outside the hotel. Suddenly Sam came around the corner. He was walking really funny. When he got up close, I could see what looked like a bag of skin filled with balls hanging from his neck. Kind of like a scrotum, but with more than two balls. Dad said he must have eaten something off the streets. I was really worried, but dad said he'd take him to the vet and that Sam would be ok. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Suddenly I was back in the hotel room and I was missing Russ and waiting on him to call me. All the people staying in the room with me left to go do something fun, but I stayed in the room waiting on the phone call. I needed to pee, but the bathrooms were in the adjoining room. When I walked in there, several girls were lounging around talking. The toilets had been unscrewed from the floor and were sitting in a corner. The girls said that the maintenance staff was trying to fix them, but it would be a while. I went back to my room and decided to pee in the tub. The tub was by the window looking out over the beach. I could see people down there organizing a game of volleyball, so I scrunched down in the tub to pee. I hadn't even gotten my jeans pulled down when the group of people appeared at the window. They didn't have enough people and were trying to recruit some more to come play volleyball. I told them I wasn't interested, so they decided to stay in the room and hang out with me. I stayed in the tub and they sat down and started watching TV. I was so sad because I hadn't heard from Russ. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I left the room to find a bathroom. When I came back, an older lady met me on the stairs and said she had answered the phone while I was gone. I started running up the stairs toward the room asking her if she knew who it was who had called. She said he wouldn't give his name, but had said he would call back. I knew it was Russ. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;The group of friends who had left me alone in the room came back and I started crying. I felt really silly, but I didn't want to be left alone again. Everyone was very consoling and apolegetic. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-5384568883306601908?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/5384568883306601908/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/07/7209.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/5384568883306601908'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/5384568883306601908'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/07/7209.html' title='Unhappy Vacation'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sk4R09tMgXI/AAAAAAAAABE/DSSV0Ntj9NQ/s72-c/hotel.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-734559872286362712</id><published>2009-06-20T07:56:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:27:59.070-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad First Day of School</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sjz7rIrPRNI/AAAAAAAAAA8/db-W4hTh9mo/s1600-h/classroom.gif"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5349427175891092690" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 277px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 226px" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sjz7rIrPRNI/AAAAAAAAAA8/db-W4hTh9mo/s320/classroom.gif" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was the first day of school and I was totally unprepared. We were in the classroom and I thought to myself, "Wow, I have a really small class this year." But then when I started counting kids I realized I had 18. They kept moving around the room and I could never get an accurate count. I decided to take attendance so I sat down at the computer. I didn't know any of their names yet and they were acting so belligerent and wouldn't tell me their names. The attendance program usually has their picture with their name underneath, but this time it just had folders they had designed with their numbers on them. There was a male assistant in the room with me and he said that they had designed the folders last year. I started calling out numbers and asking who was who. "Who's number 2?" and 5 kids raised their hands. They thought it was hilarious but it was really pissing me off. Then I saw some kids from last year and I was so sad that I didn't have them anymore. Victoria came into the room and gave me a big hug. I asked her who her teacher was and it was the new 5th grade teacher. She was scared to go to her new classroom, but I told her everything would be ok. There was door that adjoined my classroom to the next one and kids started walking through it. Then a fight broke out and I was trying to get my kids back in the classroom. One of the girls was such a bitch, and was yelling obscenities at someone in the other room. I decided we should have a class meeting, so I asked everyone to sit in a circle on the floor. I started counting down from 10, but they ignored me. I got some of them to sit, but most of them were still at their desks talking to their friends. I told them I would count down again and anyone who wasn't in the circle would lose their recess. They still ignored me. Since I didn't know any of their names, I didn't know who to keep in for recess. I was so frustrated by this time that I started yelling. The male assistant pointed and I saw Kathy kneeling down by a desk and scowling at me for losing control. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-734559872286362712?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/734559872286362712/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/06/it-was-first-day-of-school-and-i-was.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/734559872286362712'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/734559872286362712'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/06/it-was-first-day-of-school-and-i-was.html' title='Bad First Day of School'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Sjz7rIrPRNI/AAAAAAAAAA8/db-W4hTh9mo/s72-c/classroom.gif' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-2673275607067564988</id><published>2009-06-14T08:55:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:28:29.237-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Breastfeeding</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SjUeWzJGT8I/AAAAAAAAAA0/8Lpd5IeFPbk/s1600-h/breast.bmp"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5347213509606657986" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SjUeWzJGT8I/AAAAAAAAAA0/8Lpd5IeFPbk/s320/breast.bmp" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;In my dream I was laying on my side in my bed asleep. Mom came into the room holding a baby and said, "It's time for you to nurse him." She laid the baby beside me on the bed. I looked down and saw that I had huge nipples. I took a rubber nipple and put it over my nipple, then nursed the baby. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-2673275607067564988?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/2673275607067564988/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-my-dream-i-was-laying-on-my-side-in.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2673275607067564988'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2673275607067564988'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/06/in-my-dream-i-was-laying-on-my-side-in.html' title='Breastfeeding'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SjUeWzJGT8I/AAAAAAAAAA0/8Lpd5IeFPbk/s72-c/breast.bmp' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-2375575463467673381</id><published>2009-06-10T07:52:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:28:55.150-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bad Checks and Bombs</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Si_LGJ1OsUI/AAAAAAAAAAs/0clItA0eIFk/s1600-h/bomb.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5345714589290901826" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 311px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Si_LGJ1OsUI/AAAAAAAAAAs/0clItA0eIFk/s320/bomb.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;Russ and I were in a grocery store buying food at the deli. When it came time to pay, he pulled out a checkbook with someone else's name on the checks and asked me if I thought we could get away with using them. I said ok so we both wrote checks to pay for our purchases. I got a letter in the mail that said they didn't know who the checks belonged to, but the account didn't exist and I owed them 17 cents. I asked Russ if he got a letter too, but he hadn't. I was mad that I was the only one who was going to have to pay. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I worked in some type of school/hospital with long hallways. I was running through a hallway at the top of the building and I could look down into the rooms because the walls didn't go all the way to the ceiling. I threw a couple of bombs into two of the classrooms. They weren't deadly bombs - it was some kind of prank. I didn't want to get caught and I didn't think anyone would suspect me. I had a friend who was in on the prank. When I came to work the next day, they were checking IDs and trying to figure out who had thrown the bombs. I worked the first shift and was able to avoid the ID checks. No one suspected me. When my friend came to relieve me, she was wearing a disguise with a moustache. I thought that was a good idea, but then she changed before she started working. I went home and found that I was locked out. I had to climb up on a shelf on the outside of my house to try and reach my door. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-2375575463467673381?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/2375575463467673381/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/06/6809.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2375575463467673381'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/2375575463467673381'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/06/6809.html' title='Bad Checks and Bombs'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/Si_LGJ1OsUI/AAAAAAAAAAs/0clItA0eIFk/s72-c/bomb.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-6168617013290929854</id><published>2009-06-03T07:50:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:29:25.103-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Gotta Go!</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiaPPVDFKoI/AAAAAAAAAAk/nsDXvZDbuWQ/s1600-h/tx_bathroom.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343115501432547970" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 312px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiaPPVDFKoI/AAAAAAAAAAk/nsDXvZDbuWQ/s320/tx_bathroom.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in a big house with a lot of people and it was Christmas. There were lots of kids and someone was trying to organize a talent show. I kept having to go to the bathroom and pee, but it was really hard to get any privacy and there was only one bathroom in the whole house. I was about to go again, but this time to poop, when I got pulled into the audience for the talent show. I had my pants partially pulled down and there were people sitting behind me. I was trying to pull my shirt down to cover my ass. I got to the point where I couldn't wait anymore and ran to the bathroom. It had a door like a stall and was in a big room. I locked the door and sat down to do my business, but somehow people kept walking in on me. I tried to get everyone out and was yelling, "I just locked the door five minutes ago! How are you people getting in here?" Someone handed me a magazine and I sat down and took a deep breath. I was finally alone!&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-6168617013290929854?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/6168617013290929854/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/06/6209.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6168617013290929854'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6168617013290929854'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/06/6209.html' title='Gotta Go!'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiaPPVDFKoI/AAAAAAAAAAk/nsDXvZDbuWQ/s72-c/tx_bathroom.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-474085383797167250</id><published>2009-06-02T06:53:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:29:51.133-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Needles in My Neck</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiUwYdU66ZI/AAAAAAAAAAc/EuDFrjWXuis/s1600-h/needles.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342729729692330386" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 300px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 230px" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiUwYdU66ZI/AAAAAAAAAAc/EuDFrjWXuis/s320/needles.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;It was the last day of school and I was with my class visiting another school. We had brought sack lunches and were going to eat in their outdoor classroom. I had four IV needles stuck in my neck. I don't know why I had them, but I wanted them out. Johnna was helping me pull them out. When she pulled out the first one, a big arc of blood squirted everywhere. She quickly put a bandage over the wound to stop the bleeding, then pulled out the second needle. The same thing happened. There were teachers and kids standing all around and splatters of blood were on their clothes. I kept thinking, "This is so unsanitary," but I wanted those needles out! She finally got them all pulled and we were able to sit down and have lunch. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-474085383797167250?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/474085383797167250/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/06/6109.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/474085383797167250'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/474085383797167250'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/06/6109.html' title='Needles in My Neck'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiUwYdU66ZI/AAAAAAAAAAc/EuDFrjWXuis/s72-c/needles.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-6095803136444721720</id><published>2009-05-31T10:14:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:30:12.569-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Fuzzy Feet</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiK8hq6htQI/AAAAAAAAAAM/pV_4PNeja4k/s1600-h/barefeet.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342039394656302338" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 120px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 121px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiK8hq6htQI/AAAAAAAAAAM/pV_4PNeja4k/s320/barefeet.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was at school but it was the end of the year. I was explaining to another teacher how I taught long division. I was stretched out in a lawn chair and my students were sitting all around me. My feet were in Skylar's lap. I was barefoot and there were little white fuzzy things all over my feet. Kymber was pulling my toes and making them pop and it felt really good.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-6095803136444721720?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/6095803136444721720/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-was-at-school-but-it-was-end-of-year.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6095803136444721720'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/6095803136444721720'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/05/i-was-at-school-but-it-was-end-of-year.html' title='Fuzzy Feet'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiK8hq6htQI/AAAAAAAAAAM/pV_4PNeja4k/s72-c/barefeet.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6862570545248217607.post-3808396910073562545</id><published>2009-05-25T09:47:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-09-20T08:30:37.887-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Will I Ever Graduate?</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiK-6KVHceI/AAAAAAAAAAU/S9Q5s3Kv6Vg/s1600-h/no+diploma.jpg"&gt;&lt;img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5342042014429442530" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 213px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiK-6KVHceI/AAAAAAAAAAU/S9Q5s3Kv6Vg/s320/no+diploma.jpg" border="0" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div&gt;I was in college and it was the end of the semester. I had to turn in work to Kathy. It was something I had written and I knew it wasn't very good. She looked at it and told me things that were wrong. I felt embarrassed. I knew I had to finish this class in order to get my degree, but I just couldn't seem to do it. Every semester I missed a deadline and had to retake the class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Suddenly I was somewhere with Russ and he was hugging me and telling me that everything was going to be ok. He seemed really tall. We walked into a house and suddenly I seemed as tall as he was. I loooked down and saw that he didn't have shoes on, but I did. He was standing in his sock feet.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/6862570545248217607-3808396910073562545?l=papermermaid.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/feeds/3808396910073562545/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/05/52409.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3808396910073562545'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/6862570545248217607/posts/default/3808396910073562545'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://papermermaid.blogspot.com/2009/05/52409.html' title='Will I Ever Graduate?'/><author><name>D</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/14046564294808256141</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eFBszf_-k-0/SiK-6KVHceI/AAAAAAAAAAU/S9Q5s3Kv6Vg/s72-c/no+diploma.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
