tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2526816604477877472024-02-19T10:49:26.071-06:00All You Need Is LoveThe lovely little bits and pieces of me<br>
<br>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.comBlogger335125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-87509822486469859222012-12-14T09:01:00.001-06:002012-12-14T09:03:56.192-06:00Anyone out there?<div style="text-align: center;">
Wow. Remember that one time when I used to blog <strike>often</strike> <strike>monthly</strike> occasionally? Hey there, October 5th! Been about 2 months...</div>
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I still <i>read</i> blogs all the time (thanks, Google Reader!), but the inspiration to actually <i>write</i> a post about anything has just straight up and left the building. Not sure why. I've still got stuff going on in my life that would/could be blog-worthy - concerts, holiday stuff, parties, getting drunk on the reg...y'know, the usual. But every time something like that happens, I don't think to write about it and then when I do think about writing about it, it's been like 3 weeks and (let's be honest, a lot of wine has been consumed in those weeks) the details are kind of hazy. Meh.</div>
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If you're interested in knowing what's been going on in my life recently, you'd have better luck checking me out on one of the following:</div>
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InstaGram</div>
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<a href="http://followgram.me/cakeene" target="_blank">Cakeene</a></div>
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Pinterest</div>
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<a href="https://pinterest.com/cheryl_wittmann/" target="_blank">cheryl_wittmann</a></div>
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Twitter</div>
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<a href="https://twitter.com/CAKeene" target="_blank">@CAKeene</a></div>
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(although, I kind of don't really understand how Twitter works and most of my stuff is a repeat of what I just InstaGrammed...)</div>
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I won't share my Facebook because I have rules about only being FB friends with people I have actually met. I will, however, 100% accept your friend-request if we've spoken at a party for 5 seconds, even though I will most likely never see you again. We just hugged! Real-life friends!</div>
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Merry Christmas, everyone. </div>
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I probably won't be back here until sometime in 2013 - peace out!</div>
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<br />Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-20399842472168031262012-10-05T12:09:00.001-05:002012-10-05T12:09:33.759-05:00Life according to the iPhone<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Her one, solid trick</div>
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Driving 12 hours in a day, in a Uhaul, for work.</div>
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Typical.</div>
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Astros game. We lost.</div>
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Also typical.</div>
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Paradise on Lake Palestine</div>
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No one in our house is safe on Sunday Funday!</div>
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Let it be known that a tiny, thin, white guy was actually driving this vehicle</div>
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Slow your roll, Hobby Lobby. This was taken the 2nd week of September...</div>
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Follow me on Instagram - @cakeene</div>
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Happy weekend!</div>
Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-2315348735954010932012-09-27T10:26:00.000-05:002012-09-27T10:26:29.361-05:00Foul? What foul?<div style="text-align: center;">
Tiny kids playing sports. Hilarious, right? They run the wrong way, they get distracted really easily, they cry...</div>
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Now put them in a sport that not even all of America understands and watch with glee.</div>
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4 year olds playing soccer is just as hysterical as you think it would be. Even more so when you're mildly hungover/possibly still drunk.</div>
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Our oldest niece turned 4 this year and finally gets to play soccer in their neighborhood league. Saul played growing up, all through college, and is still on a men's league team, so he was pretty pumped when he found out she was interested. We've been to a few of her games and oh my god, you guys - they're awesome.<br />
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They only play with 3 girls from each team on the field at a time and the field is like, a 16th of the size of a normal field. They pretty much disregard the end lines and there is no goal keeper. Their coaches stand behind each goal, cheering for he girls so they run the right way. They don't officially keep score until they're 6, but you can bet your asses Saul and I are keeping tally (Brazil - niece's team - won 13-5 their first game...no big deal).</div>
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Some photos, for your enjoyment:</div>
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Warming up<br />
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Go Brazil!<br />
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Skills<br />
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Making faces at the crowd<br />
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Ready for the pass<br />
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Gooooooaaaaalllll!!<br />
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We need to work on her celebration...<br />
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Smiling and laughing...intimidation tactics of a 4 year old<br />
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Take it!<br />
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Goal #2...baller.<br />
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Uh oh...someone's getting bored...<br />
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Playing with her shadow<br />
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The ball's right behind you!<br />
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Chatting with friends<br />
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Hot and tired<br />
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Thriller?<br />
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Belly laughs<br />
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Pondering the meaning of life...<br />
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Shadow grab!<br />
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Water break<br />
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Shoestring emergency!<br />
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THIS is really what the coaches are out there for....also, snacks.<br />
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Good game, bro.<br />
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Future Hope Solo<br />
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Happy Thursday!<br />
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Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-16012567836216131972012-08-28T16:21:00.000-05:002012-08-28T16:21:31.260-05:00I recommend walking around naked in your living room<div style="text-align: center;">Do y'all ever get on a blast-from-the-past music kick? Right now I am <i>very into</i> Alanis Morissette again. She carried me through many an angsty pre-teen/teenage year. I definitely listened to Jagged Little Pill on repeat and screamed those lyrics out in my car. I totally <i>felt</i> them, you guys. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/4iuO49jbovg" width="420"></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">God, I loved this song.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So last weekend was one of my favorites of the year. Why, you ask? What did you and Saul do? To that, my friends, I answer...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Absolutely nothing.</div><div style="text-align: center;">And it was glorious.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">We've had a busy/hectic/shitty year and this was a weekend where we committed to not making plans and we just stayed home. Together. With no one else invited. Our roommate was even out of town. It was kind of insane. I loved it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Saul started school again this week (well, last week, but he has students again as of yesterday) and we're going to Vegas this weekend for a bachelor/bachelorette party, so a weekend to be alone together and be as lazy or as spontaneous as we wanted was definitely needed. We went out to dinner on Friday, went to our niece's first soccer game on Saturday morning (hilarious - a post coming on that, complete with pictures), and didn't leave the house after that. Like I said, <i>glorious</i>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Vegas is going to be awesome. It's been 5 (?) years since the last time Saul and I have been and bestie Sarah is coming with so it should be an adventure, at the very least. Saul will be there with the guys, but they're staying at a different hotel and we're only really planning on meeting up with them on Sunday for some pool action. The girls are going to a few clubs, which isn't really my scene (give me a dive-bar and a jukebox any day of the week), but anything in the name of bachelorette debauchery, right? Hopefully, I'll have some blog-appropriate photos to share next week...but we all know the likelihood of me actually TAKING ANY is slim - let's be honest, here.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Anyway...since I'm feeling random, I'll leave you with a few things that are pissing me off this week. Why the hell not, right?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">1. People who get onto the elevator BEFORE I've had the chance to get off. There is a repeat offender of said grievance in my office building - homeboy does this to me at least twice a week, no exaggeration. I could understand if he was jumping into the elevator on the 4th floor - why would he expect anyone to get off then? We could chalk it up to an error in judgment at that point, but noooo - he's trying to get on from the 1st floor. At all hours of the day. Maybe at least glance into the elevator as the doors open to be sure no one is standing in there, waiting to exit, before you barrel on in, body-checking the girl inside who is half your damn size. Fuck you, Elevator Asshole.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">2. Meeting cancelers that don't offer up an alternate meeting time. I'm busy, dude. I don't have time to play this stupid back-and-forth scheduling game with you. If you can't make the proposed conference time, suggest a different time/date that you're available. No, I can't read your damn mind and no, I'm not your secretary. Also, if you tell me you're going to "pencil me in," know that I am going to think you're "a snooty fucking bitch."</div><div style="text-align: center;">Except, I only used the quotes on that last part for continuity's sake and I legitimately think that about you.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">3. People who talk on their phones in the bathroom. <a href="http://cherylwittmann.blogspot.com/2008/07/can-you-spare-square.html" target="_blank">I've discussed this nasty habit before</a>, but it still just bugs the hell out of me. Just get out of the bathroom with your conversation about your family reunion plans, PLEASE.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Here's to a quick rest of the week and a fantastically fun weekend in the city of sin!</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-75420213264737644432012-08-15T11:12:00.001-05:002012-08-15T22:43:10.391-05:00Not quite top 5<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Do you guys have a Top 5 list? You know - the 5 people you're allowed to hook up with and your significant other can't get mad? I've always been a little boy-crazy, but I've never really had a solid Top 5 list. Also, pretty sure that if I ever did actually encounter any of the people I lust after, I'd be totally speechless. Forget about some wild tryst - I'd be lucky to say hello.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I had, um, <i>questionable</i> taste in boys when I was younger. I was definitely a typical teenage girl - walls plastered with magazine spreads of my favorite guys (stapled up, no less...yeah, the parents were THRILLED about that), stacks of BOP and Big BOPPER in the corners of my room, and home-made collages stuck under the clear front of my school binder (shut up - you did it, too). When we moved from California to Texas when I was 15, I found out that all teenage idols are not equal, region to region. The dudes I was obsessed with as a teenager were totally the norm in California...in Texas, nahsomuch...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8h0W7cPd4Ytg5ElkxtboK5QzZ_RMnF91me0D-eOUFdd-9juCgUgBnJzmPkIl4UIlbvnqbVlyTTJKqA4JmgJeDY-Ajx4X9Ct5Y087SqProQPnlvYl2FefV1wL9SCkKD9dgbzwklfHrxGse/s1600/JonathanBrandis.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8h0W7cPd4Ytg5ElkxtboK5QzZ_RMnF91me0D-eOUFdd-9juCgUgBnJzmPkIl4UIlbvnqbVlyTTJKqA4JmgJeDY-Ajx4X9Ct5Y087SqProQPnlvYl2FefV1wL9SCkKD9dgbzwklfHrxGse/s320/JonathanBrandis.jpg" width="223" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Jonathan Brandis (RIP)</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ladybugs and SeaQuest DSV</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I wrote a letter to him when I was like, 11. I got an "autographed" (pretty sure it was a stamp) stock photo back. I put it in a plastic sleeve and carried that bad boy with me EVERYWHERE.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I know, I know...you can't handle the coolness.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JWRKG9Iigwk5GlxLfOmZsB8BTy7BRSNkc-qklXc7Oja3sWiG5-kaBEllJJJ-18625oJlLQIEmPhwIaTaMfRoqp2-Db495u1XadE_FBlY_a-NKb-H4grmhGPaTM4-aFkPrS6I1A514Jcq/s1600/Keegan.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1JWRKG9Iigwk5GlxLfOmZsB8BTy7BRSNkc-qklXc7Oja3sWiG5-kaBEllJJJ-18625oJlLQIEmPhwIaTaMfRoqp2-Db495u1XadE_FBlY_a-NKb-H4grmhGPaTM4-aFkPrS6I1A514Jcq/s320/Keegan.jpg" width="238" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Andrew Keegan</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Hello - CAMP NOWHERE?</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I was convinced we were going to get married...as soon as we were able to meet.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">That hair, that tan, that smile...also, the sweet striped shirt and leather necklace. Yum.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I definitely had this exact BOP poster on my wall.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcB2haRhH7gbPRQg8pAsN_fdRHhs9k5HoduUD9YGccJ-_6zf6daBVUHWwrQ7KSLwo5XPAXrNID5V3Nz5VtL5QDDQ0-IZ43EexYMjaZcTqiiQCzJC3ZyjIXJVyQHf-cSuP2EndAF3Z0q381/s1600/ThomasIanNicholas.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcB2haRhH7gbPRQg8pAsN_fdRHhs9k5HoduUD9YGccJ-_6zf6daBVUHWwrQ7KSLwo5XPAXrNID5V3Nz5VtL5QDDQ0-IZ43EexYMjaZcTqiiQCzJC3ZyjIXJVyQHf-cSuP2EndAF3Z0q381/s320/ThomasIanNicholas.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="231" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Thomas Ian Nicholas</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I'd just like to go on the record saying that I loved this dude BEFORE American Pie.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">See what I mean? <i>Questionable</i>...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Saul still makes fun of some of the guys I find attractive now and every time I mention a guy that is in my Top 5, he reminds me that actually I have something like a revolving Top 15 and he points out that I can't ever remember who's actually in it.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He's totally right.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So today, right now, here's my list. Not all of them are here because they're smokin' hot - some are on because I just think they're funny as hell. Let's see who agrees with me...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNvtNyMh020zjaeu9F65LjJ4Lj-ZwS5mt9G4vGHZ5y7I94Ry2B6erGlrYFbSNrY0eGjaHN-yyTYJn50baVUHZgmTP8eE_nFQXdFiaP4ugvBDx3WKU4JXk_Jkb-_e9YhtkGcEdB0vXywfv/s1600/JoeMang.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRNvtNyMh020zjaeu9F65LjJ4Lj-ZwS5mt9G4vGHZ5y7I94Ry2B6erGlrYFbSNrY0eGjaHN-yyTYJn50baVUHZgmTP8eE_nFQXdFiaP4ugvBDx3WKU4JXk_Jkb-_e9YhtkGcEdB0vXywfv/s320/JoeMang.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="213" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">We'll start with the obvious hot guy - Joe Manganiello</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">If you watch True Blood, you know where I'm coming from. Also, if you've seen Magic Mike, I can't imagine how you wouldn't be on board with this one - his name in the movie is BIG DICK RICHIE, for crying out loud.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">*I do think he looks kind of dumb, though. Pretty face/body, but I don't have a lot faith that there's much going on upstairs.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pr4zrN7jojYSXdTEiK_2GspMqwkDw8yjnRR6PqVaHu66cQAF1iSXFSIiYAoWi5F1XXFK8wLGNbAgg-NEIGfeQJiHI3XjueFgLbuDLN__HIzwNFtIUbYtndFSrdnxz6qXYVcHcv4JlGmd/s1600/JesseWilliams.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1pr4zrN7jojYSXdTEiK_2GspMqwkDw8yjnRR6PqVaHu66cQAF1iSXFSIiYAoWi5F1XXFK8wLGNbAgg-NEIGfeQJiHI3XjueFgLbuDLN__HIzwNFtIUbYtndFSrdnxz6qXYVcHcv4JlGmd/s320/JesseWilliams.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Another pretty boy - Jesse Williams</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I love his character, Avery, on Grey's Anatomy. And those eyes...yowza.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsuwbudTnM7ryYPezMvcTt3Lh7T7KVROmKSCYssIzzYUv2AGtTXCoT0fUReIu0Tnw9rEWRI5G1ZvQ2JkSm2pE1v-c49IXOD7dafYKrNQGDsqGfXfNKjrM8LbFz150CbwtEoJU1I4kRNslS/s1600/josh-holloway-profile.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsuwbudTnM7ryYPezMvcTt3Lh7T7KVROmKSCYssIzzYUv2AGtTXCoT0fUReIu0Tnw9rEWRI5G1ZvQ2JkSm2pE1v-c49IXOD7dafYKrNQGDsqGfXfNKjrM8LbFz150CbwtEoJU1I4kRNslS/s320/josh-holloway-profile.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="263" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Josh Holloway</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Oh, Sawyer...I miss Lost so much and you're one of the main reasons.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Please show back up on Community. PLEASE.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil3jEaFarM8DYkiha4DWIcjGyBd3FTqAbjmwwDn4KHMWsW8GSKSyuz74bAhg-0cg4BbbWNFe8QuLw_xZ1SbjV6uDJfI5IFon-u_M-AgTU5KDq_pVQy0OgQWc5cQ29Z-QU2MZPEtoXTWxS7/s1600/joshua-jackson.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEil3jEaFarM8DYkiha4DWIcjGyBd3FTqAbjmwwDn4KHMWsW8GSKSyuz74bAhg-0cg4BbbWNFe8QuLw_xZ1SbjV6uDJfI5IFon-u_M-AgTU5KDq_pVQy0OgQWc5cQ29Z-QU2MZPEtoXTWxS7/s320/joshua-jackson.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Joshua Jackson</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">C'mon...who DIDN'T prefer Pacey? Face it - Dawson was a giant nerd. Pacey was the guy you wanted to hang out with. Also, dating Diane Kruger just ups his hotness for me. They're totally beautiful together.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSGtznA-Wm1mzRRexPYQELJoyWN21g7dDSHKS3Wj1_JuRDhX3vUr7jADb_5AacL8xuimbJoaM47_w0PkO7dAa7KCsp5ESLmJuDpw2bxGq_ZLuMIkiF8EMuINyrtrEiPv92G2ijjG-EhoC/s1600/justin_timberlake_06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqSGtznA-Wm1mzRRexPYQELJoyWN21g7dDSHKS3Wj1_JuRDhX3vUr7jADb_5AacL8xuimbJoaM47_w0PkO7dAa7KCsp5ESLmJuDpw2bxGq_ZLuMIkiF8EMuINyrtrEiPv92G2ijjG-EhoC/s320/justin_timberlake_06.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="253" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Justin Timberlake</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Loved him in N*Sync, so he's basically transitioned from teenage crush to adult crush with me. He's funny, smart, and a good dresser. Boom.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Now onto the guys who crack me up...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaeQ4I_U0envmR4N997jzUhyW3j60h8ZGiBHXQnRuAa8a7PnqG76eg02uj9UZWNZXeCl8MPVY8K6zvKLlbKh3ND5DagZw90Z3Vj1p1pebk9E265fIIDypL181zGaiV0pmhsEEBIfPkXT2g/s1600/JasonBateman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaeQ4I_U0envmR4N997jzUhyW3j60h8ZGiBHXQnRuAa8a7PnqG76eg02uj9UZWNZXeCl8MPVY8K6zvKLlbKh3ND5DagZw90Z3Vj1p1pebk9E265fIIDypL181zGaiV0pmhsEEBIfPkXT2g/s320/JasonBateman.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="223" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Jason Bateman</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Arrested Development, anyone? Michael Bluth is my favorite.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">He's hilarious. I love him. I find him weirdly attractive.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2DiNkIqrptKmfrFezrxK9BUMCtQMoEzqtQtZIXM_qocQ67ZQX1c8G7JeoUFgy-zpPOzZGZEPz3EMZVF14dxaI2tI1vlBZTD312TIlY1yzHX_3RV9bvfTJ9AqxcLWdPd3wJ6ZmJ932HR5/s1600/PaulRudd.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv2DiNkIqrptKmfrFezrxK9BUMCtQMoEzqtQtZIXM_qocQ67ZQX1c8G7JeoUFgy-zpPOzZGZEPz3EMZVF14dxaI2tI1vlBZTD312TIlY1yzHX_3RV9bvfTJ9AqxcLWdPd3wJ6ZmJ932HR5/s320/PaulRudd.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="227" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Paul Rudd.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">I've loved him since Clueless, and I think he's totally aged well. Again, so so funny. Love.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Now onto the guys who are on the fence (pretty sure they'll be devastated to hear that)...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHqQqesJcFxfPPmL0j9eY5ks0rkmyPsHK0we7E9T9d1E6gvPgXi8pm43RYnJiltBg9kE54xdDo_RaBCsoyZfRwZJpyqJyu-w7uWBY1M6HvADQ9N0LioVPhuPFc_5I9EhJeuyf4ba1qS98/s1600/JGL.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrHqQqesJcFxfPPmL0j9eY5ks0rkmyPsHK0we7E9T9d1E6gvPgXi8pm43RYnJiltBg9kE54xdDo_RaBCsoyZfRwZJpyqJyu-w7uWBY1M6HvADQ9N0LioVPhuPFc_5I9EhJeuyf4ba1qS98/s320/JGL.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Joseph Gordon Levitt</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ok, I can't figure this one out - on one hand, he's slightly-less-squinty-dude from 3rd Rock from the Sun. On the other hand, he's super-dapper-hottie-in-a-suit from Inception.</div><div style="text-align: center;">I know, I know...I don't get it either.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMB9ANXNsLAMIxWGPYwu31K8lR0__rZgaCcOTzPU3lsnrvbxJYiZ01W9sq8SOayhNWQa6Ge-lrDI4XXJSNytAncnWFcehUfEyzrt7CQWpFRyn_Qybnv0jgbX5Y25hIVEQS-DxWcnEpLTrA/s1600/judelaw300.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMB9ANXNsLAMIxWGPYwu31K8lR0__rZgaCcOTzPU3lsnrvbxJYiZ01W9sq8SOayhNWQa6Ge-lrDI4XXJSNytAncnWFcehUfEyzrt7CQWpFRyn_Qybnv0jgbX5Y25hIVEQS-DxWcnEpLTrA/s320/judelaw300.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Jude Law</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Another internal conflict for me. Super hot in The Holiday (awful movie, but one I will watch every freaking time it comes on TV, just for him), super brainy in Sherlock Holmes, but can also look dirty as hell and barftastic.</div><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">So there you have it...my random, all over the place list. Anyone agree with any of them? Anyone have the same conflicts? Do tell.</div><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">Happy HUMP Day</div><div style="text-align: center;">;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"> And, just because I am DYING over this...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmNPpdb7svo4XRsaEJEtbx_VWZoEoaKAVjYtoTSoxcBC5q4Yi7uJ9fM_x0WZ72-H9A1U6Sz0_K5WV7iLsBjwbHUvYO-Q02k3UFEpNPwT9eAX9wASsyMJq_Wj38PFV_CIVwUcBWhiuflfX/s1600/ryangosling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCmNPpdb7svo4XRsaEJEtbx_VWZoEoaKAVjYtoTSoxcBC5q4Yi7uJ9fM_x0WZ72-H9A1U6Sz0_K5WV7iLsBjwbHUvYO-Q02k3UFEpNPwT9eAX9wASsyMJq_Wj38PFV_CIVwUcBWhiuflfX/s320/ryangosling.jpg" width="231" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Ryan Gosling</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">BAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: xx-small;">all photos from Google images</span></div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-53452820321081925342012-08-09T16:04:00.001-05:002012-08-09T16:12:55.769-05:00Instagram it<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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c.</div>
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d.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtFxj7Ak826Y216ZS11K4A1UNFyx5PiKoVPlOt2equkRt0SER3T4TfqYdyXjxe__SiSItDNcIpL_JUshd5zvnuoox-rQ0VShnk9n8mDht1PYIV8XT3SoiwaYBAGYJ6gJAiDwfhAHNEYxve/s1600/66c3fe56cf8c11e18e3c22000a1e8b97_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtFxj7Ak826Y216ZS11K4A1UNFyx5PiKoVPlOt2equkRt0SER3T4TfqYdyXjxe__SiSItDNcIpL_JUshd5zvnuoox-rQ0VShnk9n8mDht1PYIV8XT3SoiwaYBAGYJ6gJAiDwfhAHNEYxve/s320/66c3fe56cf8c11e18e3c22000a1e8b97_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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e. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLj8poNZO5YC9kUsUKN58lAzTwtfolM7tvrKVCzGsZe7hJ5hUbB9rgU32MvCgjSfAAWnIIbFDsR9t8NQ_HiuGq6xYNJTJNf2iO4nHd3paOeLYhaidF6rm8pMRKqsnQuu8neyac4urNLFy9/s1600/79442b4abf3411e1989612313815112c_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLj8poNZO5YC9kUsUKN58lAzTwtfolM7tvrKVCzGsZe7hJ5hUbB9rgU32MvCgjSfAAWnIIbFDsR9t8NQ_HiuGq6xYNJTJNf2iO4nHd3paOeLYhaidF6rm8pMRKqsnQuu8neyac4urNLFy9/s320/79442b4abf3411e1989612313815112c_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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f. </div>
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g. </div>
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h. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5uTvCKmN1_ifaBGQwnbGNSdE4mM-Vs4ofnMnG9Vf_ME8m_aT47VNH-bfDSwCYIBb_-RbXIi37MBv2STxhEUIPPBjk7rgpiVX_U7x0_7JsnBs0Apu7rNRdE3k3HwOU6xKfpVMqLfN_dGs/s1600/9a36ee6ccf7b11e19e6f22000a1c0290_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs5uTvCKmN1_ifaBGQwnbGNSdE4mM-Vs4ofnMnG9Vf_ME8m_aT47VNH-bfDSwCYIBb_-RbXIi37MBv2STxhEUIPPBjk7rgpiVX_U7x0_7JsnBs0Apu7rNRdE3k3HwOU6xKfpVMqLfN_dGs/s320/9a36ee6ccf7b11e19e6f22000a1c0290_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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i.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2BL4GpeeLORPaz8IWv7yH3x-eRddmsdGXqWJW20W9tFWuFAZTqpv9qAHt1VP1Ghyk7HyEY1oF1dGKmTfQ6g7taEjEXBx0WSQalE8taoN5iVEe6M3fbDND06Y6wH6UYHmdGiBlkUmgrae7/s1600/fe924f3ec3bc11e1abd612313810100a_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2BL4GpeeLORPaz8IWv7yH3x-eRddmsdGXqWJW20W9tFWuFAZTqpv9qAHt1VP1Ghyk7HyEY1oF1dGKmTfQ6g7taEjEXBx0WSQalE8taoN5iVEe6M3fbDND06Y6wH6UYHmdGiBlkUmgrae7/s320/fe924f3ec3bc11e1abd612313810100a_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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j.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRJ8Frfb9QmxKcBi1f6iinPJ-7I5cHbcR8aQ14QzscNcj-8j0AY0iDTi_YYCW4uyA0WJlpMRaxPFWMEE_4ACZ2_D13SmsUD2gpknNuM1ayehEkaUiNcwUUZy_YY8u3KXziEf4HRLK4OXQ/s1600/bb9eafbca1be11e180d51231380fcd7e_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIRJ8Frfb9QmxKcBi1f6iinPJ-7I5cHbcR8aQ14QzscNcj-8j0AY0iDTi_YYCW4uyA0WJlpMRaxPFWMEE_4ACZ2_D13SmsUD2gpknNuM1ayehEkaUiNcwUUZy_YY8u3KXziEf4HRLK4OXQ/s320/bb9eafbca1be11e180d51231380fcd7e_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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k.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA4CvEdNMauD3BJDyDy-uDuyDmj3v7Lkf7EiTPtjt84gxBepfCHX4eOLpX4ISgPX_4AclBihpQXv9IGByl58VeWZBGzz5d9Rgb1fESg2dcut14gsxhG0Fyy4psgluCK5m4WQeE-j1Aqwqr/s1600/7f607d9ad1d511e1a0c8123138100666_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiA4CvEdNMauD3BJDyDy-uDuyDmj3v7Lkf7EiTPtjt84gxBepfCHX4eOLpX4ISgPX_4AclBihpQXv9IGByl58VeWZBGzz5d9Rgb1fESg2dcut14gsxhG0Fyy4psgluCK5m4WQeE-j1Aqwqr/s320/7f607d9ad1d511e1a0c8123138100666_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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l.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYgZFttkZF0SHJf77qb3hdRyKQzXScG2jh90ms7zT50Ip11kD5U4774ocZmEC6eoBqTYUgFDoxx8SUjJl8cSxXx4nogbrdjs6IYe0bbH8Tak-0wIgUS_qbEyId_RngjO_HtWDmD2CMCeFB/s1600/c479dc60c3c911e181bd12313817987b_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYgZFttkZF0SHJf77qb3hdRyKQzXScG2jh90ms7zT50Ip11kD5U4774ocZmEC6eoBqTYUgFDoxx8SUjJl8cSxXx4nogbrdjs6IYe0bbH8Tak-0wIgUS_qbEyId_RngjO_HtWDmD2CMCeFB/s320/c479dc60c3c911e181bd12313817987b_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
m.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMhUzlGBojkeXQiBVgzDi53jOirrToC7sKopr2pWld_5mZRgYnyXYTjsxIom_QSAYYpEue6W6dKlj3TH6uzyQHwF_MInqqbWknsAyx10g_RF7KSeKhmzTfLE2GZNHaXweNofm48ZeBmZF/s1600/d5ecc272d45f11e1b41b22000a1c8856_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqMhUzlGBojkeXQiBVgzDi53jOirrToC7sKopr2pWld_5mZRgYnyXYTjsxIom_QSAYYpEue6W6dKlj3TH6uzyQHwF_MInqqbWknsAyx10g_RF7KSeKhmzTfLE2GZNHaXweNofm48ZeBmZF/s320/d5ecc272d45f11e1b41b22000a1c8856_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
n.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLfn909qfE6LZM8yuFpbRvt8BKNYahJcJcTqHuKIDDjYAdqYUHgCmAq4ef5VAIIHJe67_anTNez2zUvfuVWmP26mcJllTKdnr5zH6880iDc4EeIhRBViu1bJ-yC9OtAPsYNicZ14CtQBv/s1600/fe06bc8eba7611e1a8761231381b4856_7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLLfn909qfE6LZM8yuFpbRvt8BKNYahJcJcTqHuKIDDjYAdqYUHgCmAq4ef5VAIIHJe67_anTNez2zUvfuVWmP26mcJllTKdnr5zH6880iDc4EeIhRBViu1bJ-yC9OtAPsYNicZ14CtQBv/s320/fe06bc8eba7611e1a8761231381b4856_7.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
o.</div>
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a. <i>sailing away in Galveston Bay </i></div>
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b. <i>they partied too hardy on the cruise </i></div>
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c. <i>dogsitting this handsome dude is easy</i> </div>
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d. <i>my favorite 3 year-old </i></div>
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e. <i>it's officially hurricane season - are YOU prepared? </i></div>
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f. <i>i can tell it's summer by your wicked ring tan-line, girl...</i></div>
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g. <i>it's an old-school golf partee </i>;)<i> </i></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
h.<i> everyday in my office is casual friday</i></div>
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i. <i>if Saul's babysitting, shit's gettin' CRAZY</i></div>
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j. <i>Jalapeno Watermelon Margarita...spicy!</i></div>
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k. <i>boozy besties</i></div>
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l. <i>it's a happy coincidence when your nails match your red Solo cup</i></div>
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m. <i>Seared sea scallops at Hubble & Hudson</i></div>
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n.<i> Jesus is just all right with me</i></div>
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o. <i>somewhere between Ramen and Pho...</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<a href="http://followgram.me/cakeene/" target="_blank">follow me on Instagram</a></div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-14982690233952279232012-08-07T15:26:00.001-05:002012-08-16T11:28:41.292-05:00I like to rock n' roll all night and *part* of every day. I usually have errands... I can only rock from like 1 to 3..<div style="text-align: center;">So this is just basically a brain-dump of everything that's been going on recently. Since my <a href="http://cherylwittmann.blogspot.com/2012/06/end-of-june-hell.html" target="_blank">last post</a>, things have calmed down a bit, but we've still been super busy, which is just par for the course in the summertime. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">We went to Minnesota to visit some friends (I took no pictures), <a href="http://www.FACESautism.com/" target="_blank">FACES</a> just had our 6th annual Casino Night (again...no pictures), we celebrated a friend's engagement (pictures? nah...), and our 3rd niece turned 1 (not even a phone pic). </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I blame the lack of picture-taking on the fact that I would have nowhere to upload them if I actually did take any - I spilled water on my MacBook a few months ago and I think my battery connection has just finally died. It won't stay powered on, even when plugged in, so I need to take a trip to the Apple store and get my baby all fixed up. If you really care to see photo evidence of my life, hit me up on Instagram - <a href="http://followgram.me/cakeene/" target="_blank">cakeene</a>.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">In other news, OF COURSE we've been watching the hell out of the Olympics. I've always been a fan of the US swimming team, and gymnastics just amazes me, but I think I've found my new favorite sport... Track Cycling.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Have you guys watched this? Saul and I caught it last night and were DYING. What we gathered was that the winner is decided by a best 2 out of 3 situation, and the races consist of 3 laps around a insanely graded track. The venue they race in is nicknamed "The Pringle," because of it's uncanny likeness to the chip, which again, DYING. Also, when the racers get going, they spend the whole first lap in "intense psychological contention," (announcer's words, not mine) which means they go slow as freaking snails until they hit lap 2, and then they just take off. It is so weird. I don't understand the reason for going slow to start, but it's definitely hilarious to watch because it just looks like the guy in front is making sure the guy behind him is checking out his butt.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_vSRitTD80CSNSPCchFot0g45INqgD7H-MJe4hSbKdVBnlJKBj_I1L2RRyiu3osmaRtMEewqZ31LilAENGUhcg3WzujN5p0Tk1fmwpNDNXf78b8fRsFppPuVRlhD_RAKHkHxe8hGlRBW/s1600/trackcycling.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_vSRitTD80CSNSPCchFot0g45INqgD7H-MJe4hSbKdVBnlJKBj_I1L2RRyiu3osmaRtMEewqZ31LilAENGUhcg3WzujN5p0Tk1fmwpNDNXf78b8fRsFppPuVRlhD_RAKHkHxe8hGlRBW/s320/trackcycling.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Nice glutes, bro.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i><br />
</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Olympics this year have been really weird in that I pretty much know how everything turns out before I watch it, which is a bummer. I try to stay off any internet site that might have spoilers, but seeing as how I work in IT and I'm at a computer all day, it's not as easy as it sounds. Also, my co-workers are really into the Olympics too, so basically everything has been ruined.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">However, so far no one that I know of in my office watches Track Cycling, so that won't get spoiled ;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-62094613732569875242012-06-28T13:38:00.000-05:002012-06-28T13:38:54.702-05:00Never underestimate the importance of sunscreen<div style="text-align: center;">
The end of June? The hell...? Hopefully I'm not the only one that just realized 4 weeks of summer months are long behind me. On the other hand, that means 4 weeks of INSANELY hot temps are also far behind me. That, I can live with.</div>
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I know I bitch about it every summer, but for the love of God - 108 degrees? REALLY?</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
This month has been full - full of fun and traveling, but also full of shitty moments that I just can't really even elaborate on. The fact that I haven't written about ANYTHING makes me sick to put it all in the same place finally, but here are the major points - if you care to hear anything more about any of the fun ones, let me know...</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
The fun!</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Saul and I went on a cruise with my parents</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
We celebrated a great friend's 30th bday/housewarming/engagement (crazy weekend)</div>
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My brother found out he's going to be a dad (shocking!)</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
The oh-so-sucky...</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Saul's grandpa (his dad's step-dad) passed away last week. Cancer. Very fast, very unexpected.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
One of my dear, sweet friends from college was just diagnosed with cancer. Very young, very unexpected.</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
fuck.</div>
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It's just been a hell of year and I am so ready for my in-laws to have some kind of a break. This month marked 3 months since <a href="http://cherylwittmann.blogspot.com/2012/03/if-it-be-your-will.html" target="_blank">Saul's dad lost his battle with cancer</a>, and now that bastard has come back to claim another wonderful man.</div>
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I just can't...I have too many feelings about all of the cancer news. I'm tired.</div>
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Thank the heavens it's Thursday - I need this weekend to be here NOW.</div>
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xoxo</div>
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<br /></div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-74075615614602457932012-05-23T11:27:00.000-05:002012-05-23T12:36:35.238-05:00That's the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool...<div style="text-align: center;">
So, yet another bloggy hiatus for me. Pretty much that's how I roll - I'll get on a semi-decent kick, posting at least once a week (is that even a 'kick?') and then I disappear for a month. Ah well...hopefully you all still love me anyway ;)</div>
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I've not got a ton to say today, although lots has been happening in my neck of the woods, so I'll just leave you with a few things I am super excited about right now...</div>
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<b>A.</b></div>
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<b>Phillip fucking Phillips.</b></div>
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Do you yet know the majesty of this 21 year-old <strike>kid</strike> man? He is basically Dave Matthews lite, which gets me all a'swooning. He's been a contestant on American Idol this season and you can just go ahead right now and save your "American Idol is soooo lame" because yeah, I get it. It's crazy over-produced, and the guest performances annoy the shit out of me, so Saul and I basically just watch it on 4-arrow fast forward so we only have to watch the contestants performances/reactions and Jimmy Iovine's (!!!!) commentary. Because really, who DOESN'T love that snarky, blue-glassed, wisp of a man?</div>
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The thing about Phillip Phillips that I looooove the most (no - not his sad little scruffly beard and gross "mustache"...seriously, get rid of that bad boy. It's been months and it looks no different) is that he's not changed his musical style AT ALL this season. I hate to use the word "artist" because it sounds like I'm just regurgitating the judge's words, but seriously - this guy is legit. He doesn't give a fuck if people criticize him for his growly voice and complete disregard for any kind of melody - he just gets out there and sings his ass off, the way he wants to. He also hasn't sung any real main-stream DMB songs this season, so he's not tried to make people remember him for sounding JUST LIKE someone else. Bravo, Phillip Phillips, bravo.</div>
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Although, your parents were real fucked up for giving you that name and I can't decide if it's the most awesome/heinous thing I've ever heard.</div>
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Tonight is the final episode of the season and it will be decided whether P.Phillips or Jessica Sanchez (with her big ol' voice like WOAH) is going to be YOUR American Idol. This will be his single, if he makes it out a winner. Dying. I love it.</div>
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<b>B.</b></div>
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<b>The Great Gatsby</b></div>
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Did you read this book in high school? Are you like me and read it like, 100 times in high school? Seriously, I was (and still try to be) a total book-worm while I was in school. I've loved to read my whole life and I had a habit of reading books I was obsessed with over and over and over again. Island of the Blue Dolphins, in junior high? Read it over 30 times, no joke. Great Expectations, in high school? Read it at least 10 times. The Great Gatsby was one of my favorites and I've read it probably 5 times SINCE graduating. I love Jay Gatsby, even if he is a shady, dickish dick (name that movie), and I love how batshit crazy all the characters are. </div>
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I am even more pumped to see Leonardo as one James Gatz...</div>
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Happy Hump Day, indeed.<br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">*post title from - you guessed it - The Great Gatsby</span></div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-64611897017871097112012-05-01T14:40:00.000-05:002012-05-01T14:40:11.160-05:00The fabric of our lives<div style="text-align: center;">
So every year you're married, your wedding anniversary has a different theme. Year 1 is paper (money?), year 50 is diamond (bling bling), yada yada yada.</div>
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Year 2?</div>
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Cotton.</div>
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wtf.</div>
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Saul really came through on this one and is gifting me 1 year of professional maid service for the house - YIPEEE!!! I am beyond pumped that cleaning toilets and baseboards are off my to-do list for the next 12 months. Cotton = towels. Well played, husband...well played.</div>
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I unknowingly participated in the year 2 theme by gifting Saul a pair of tickets to a Dynamo game at the new soccer stadium downtown (tickets/paper/linen = cotton), as well as a professional massage (again - cotton = towel, as Saul pointed out). So, go me, too.</div>
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Anniversary gift success all around.</div>
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Friday night, we'll celebrate the fact that after 2 years of marriage (5 of cohabitation), we have not killed each other and are still choosing every day to be each other's person.</div>
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May 1, 2010 I said "I do" to this dude...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Z-Hgwu-BklgDAif1uqbYsJtUHNsnVVUm4XRgruofq5ms5F_omXkpQ83dXR8rG3GQ-lZYgkSNSoUsL-pBiUhcw1S8-iFILj4L6xvuksKPcAsxvQx7pf1___x8wt4JatPmutDzpOwletQn/s1600/297183_546511580046_79500346_31138132_4754648_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4Z-Hgwu-BklgDAif1uqbYsJtUHNsnVVUm4XRgruofq5ms5F_omXkpQ83dXR8rG3GQ-lZYgkSNSoUsL-pBiUhcw1S8-iFILj4L6xvuksKPcAsxvQx7pf1___x8wt4JatPmutDzpOwletQn/s320/297183_546511580046_79500346_31138132_4754648_n.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
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...and the last 24 months have definitely been full of good times, laughs and lots of red solo cups. We're classy.</div>
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I love you, Saul!</div>
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<br /></div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-82523488391188861792012-04-30T12:28:00.000-05:002012-04-30T12:29:24.497-05:00Happy birthday to me<div style="text-align: center;">
Today begins the start of my 29th year on this Earth. As I begin this last year in my 20's, I've started to reflect on birthdays past and really ponder how it is I've come to be where I am today...</div>
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-RECORD SCRATCH-</div>
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Whaaaat??? Um, hell no. Today is not a day of reflection or a day for pondering - today is a mutha fuckin' celebration, y'all!!!</div>
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Today is my birthday and I am proud to announce that I am 29 years old. </div>
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It's been a fast month - I can't believe tomorrow is May 1 - and my b-day pretty much snuck up on me this year. I don't have any big plans for a party, but my friends always come through and a few have already told me they're free next Saturday night, so a Cinco de Mayo birthday festival is likely to happen.</div>
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Complete with tequila.</div>
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Bazinga!</div>
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Even though most of my friends aren't, I am really looking forward to turning 30 next year and have spent a lot of time thinking of a way to celebrate my Golden Birthday (30 on the 30th). So in honor of all the crazy debauchery the birthdays of my 20's brought (and are sure to bring) about, I leave you with this photo...</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP6fR4FvonjSugwKqtpth9fisUUr4IL_Sms9cQVY3inN4VFSF2mg6lgiix91-U00A7DXBoUQFnjS7-mOu1Ickb_VLc5bC2fBe6A0fka2OK0qcD-i8ThGMZUJmhAypBcMBS6oDVlfufgfDi/s1600/10_522877961507_29617932_30547464_2083_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP6fR4FvonjSugwKqtpth9fisUUr4IL_Sms9cQVY3inN4VFSF2mg6lgiix91-U00A7DXBoUQFnjS7-mOu1Ickb_VLc5bC2fBe6A0fka2OK0qcD-i8ThGMZUJmhAypBcMBS6oDVlfufgfDi/s400/10_522877961507_29617932_30547464_2083_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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Little old me with one of the bff's, Dustin, ringing in year 22...complete with cake fight, which I clearly dominated.</div>
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Here's to 29. Bring it the eff on.</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-32194069391429182552012-04-18T14:00:00.001-05:002012-04-18T14:35:21.354-05:00Girls become lovers who turn into mothers - wait, what the..?? Not all of us...<div style="text-align: center;">First of all, hellloooo to my new followers! That little number to the left is pushin' up to 15 and I appreciate ya ;) Welcome, welcome! Now let me start off by possibly immediately offending you.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Saul and I attended a wedding this weekend, which is pretty much standard for us since we're in that time of our lives when every single person we know seems to be getting married. They're a blast and we love them (the free booze AND celebrating our friends), so this is not a post bitching about weddings.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Although, I have done that in the past. </div><div style="text-align: center;">Whoopsies.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Anyway, this is a rant about babies. Not babies in general - you'd have to be pretty fucking heartless to just go off and rant about a BABY - but the subject of babies amongst friends and even strangers and the judgement (OH - the judgement!) that comes from those conversations.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It is common knowledge that Saul and I are choosing not to have children. Well, at least at this point it's a choice. I guess we don't know if we even can have kids, but that's not something we've ever thought about, so moving on... Our friends and family all know that we're not on the baby-train and while yes, they might tease us about it and occasionally give us some grief, they don't press the issue or condemn us for our decision.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">We choose to live our lives care-free and as spontaneously as possible. We like to be able to decide on a whim to go out to a nice dinner, or to head down to the beach at 8pm on Wednesday, or to book a trip out of town for the weekend. Now, before you go getting your panties in a wad, I get that you CAN do all that with kids. I have friends who have kids. My brother-in-law and sister-in-law have kids. Are they chained to their houses? No. Does doing something like going out of town require a little more planning on their part? YES. Saul and I are choosing not to introduce that extra factor into our lives right now.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I qualify that statement with the "right now" because HOLY SHIT has that gotten the questions to die down a bit. People react so much more harshly to "No, we're not having kids," than they do to "No, we're not having kids RIGHT NOW." Sure, I still get some follow up questions, but usually they just let that declaration sit. I'm not sure why - maybe they assume we've tried and just haven't been able to conceive yet? Whatever their thought process is, the questions usually stop there.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The real ranting on this subject comes as a result of speaking with people I didn't even know at the wedding this last weekend. Saul was a groomsman, so he and I sat with the rest of the wedding party and I introduced myself to the girlfriends/wives. I don't know what it is about married people, but when you meet <i>other</i> married people the questions usually flow like this:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">"How long have you been married?"</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Do you have any kids?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Ugh. To both questions.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I try my damnedest to ask something more interesting - "What do you guys do for fun in xxxx (town where you live)?" "What's your drink of choice?" "What color is your thong?"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">One of the girls I was talking to was all smiley and nice and cordial until I responded to the second question with a solid, "No." Her face immediately went all horrified and twisty as she gasped and asked, "WHY?" <i><u>My</u> </i>face immediately went all <i>hell no</i> and <i>bitch, please</i> as I responded, "Because we don't want to." Good God, you would have thought I killed her puppy. FYI - that's all the explanation you need, hooker. The rest of the questions she asked were all old hat for me...she asked how old I was, whether we had tried (!!!), and if we had any friends with kids already. I told her I was turning 29 this month and she calmed down a little, letting out a relieved sigh saying, "Oh, well then you still have time."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Newsflash - it's not about "still having time."</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I turned away and sipped on my drink, but it was still awkward as hell because Mrs Baby Patrol was sitting right next to me and we hadn't even started dinner yet. Make no mistake - she didn't ruin my night, but JESUS...have some tact.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Just a tip to those of you who judge the non-baby-makers: cut it the fuck out.<br />
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I don't think you're weird if you have a kid. I don't tell my friends I don't understand their decision to grow their families. I don't hate babies.<br />
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Quit acting like I've committed some mortal sin.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">It's rude. It's none of your business. It's (surprisingly enough) kind of hurtful when someone forms an immediate opinion of me and/or my character based solely on my decision not to procreate. I'm not doing it to personally offend you - I'm doing it because it's what makes sense in my life. I've never felt the urge to have a child. Saul is on board with that. If I ever feel differently, Saul and I will figure it out. Leave our choice alone.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Also, I kind of hate that I felt like I needed to defend my stance in a post.</div><div style="text-align: center;">Jerks.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-84013798771808720232012-03-27T10:45:00.001-05:002012-03-27T10:45:01.186-05:0013.1<div style="text-align: center;">Remember back in January when I told y'all <a href="http://cherylwittmann.blogspot.com/2012/01/run-run-run-rungirls-gonna-run.html" target="_blank">I'd be running my first half marathon</a>? Well, March 3, I did it ;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I finished in 2:47:04, which I am really proud of. It's way slower than my intended pace, but it's pretty awesome considering I hadn't run for almost 2 whole months prior to the race.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yeah - that's right. I hadn't run since January 12, and the longest run I completed was 5 miles.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm not bragging - it was dumb to take so much time off, and I really wish I hadn't. January 7 was my first 5-mile run. My training program consisted of 4 shorter runs during the week and then long runs, increasing by 1 mile each week, on Saturdays. My 5-mile run went well and I was really encouraged - I can TOTALLY do this!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">And then I hurt my leg - my right calf, to be exact. And I thought it might fall off my body. It felt like it was on fire. So I waited for it to heal, but when it didn't feel any better after a week, I went to the doctor. He rotated my foot around, moved my leg all over the place, and finally found the problem when he tried to bend my foot at the ankle and push my toes back up toward my shin.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Relax your leg."</div><div style="text-align: center;">"I am...it's relaxed."</div><div style="text-align: center;">"No, seriously...quit pushing against my hand."</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Dude - my legs are totally relaxed! I can't relax them any more!"</div><div style="text-align: center;">"Holy shit - how are you running AT ALL?!"</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Basically, he told me that I'm not at all flexible (um, durr...) and that I was doing some serious damage to my muscles without proper recovery time. You know how when you work out, your muscles "tear and repair?" Ok, well, I'm so NOT flexible that when I ran, my calf muscles were tearing, but they were tearing pretty severely which of course means they would need more time to repair themselves, which I wasn't giving them seeing as how I was running 5 times a week. He referred me to a therapist, which I oh-so-smartly didn't go see, and instead I just waited for the pain to go away on it's own.<br />
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It finally did about 2 weeks later (so we're looking at late January, here) and I went out for another run. After 1 mile, I turned around, limping home on my bad leg. I iced it and made the executive decision not to run again until the half, so as not to hurt myself again. I'm brilliant, I tell you, brilliant! Saul was really skeptical of this training method and basically gave up hope on me participating in or finishing the race. <br />
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Fast forward to March 2, the day of the expo and packet pick-up. I was feeling REALLY unsettled about my preparedness level and was pretty much just freaking the fuck out about the run. I had dinner that night with some friends who were running, and they gave me all kinds of pep talks and told me I would be fine. Then I went home to try and sleep, which was just a pipe-dream - I think I got maybe 2 hours of solid zzz's all night, I was so nervous.<br />
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The morning of the run, we got up and out the door by 5:30am (race started at 6:47 for the marathoners, 7am for the halfies), and I was desperately trying to keep my piece of peanut butter toast down. I planned to run alone since my pace was slower than the friends I had running, so I had my iPod Shuffle, my watch, my little SpiBelt with a few ShotBloks and some quick-release Tylenol, and my insane fear to keep me going. I gave Saul a kiss goodbye and jumped into my corral, still trying not to hurl on the runners around me. Saul and I planned to see each other at mile 1.5, and then not again until mile 10.<br />
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We started right on time, and my legs felt great. After the first mile I was feeling more relaxed and concentrating on keeping my pace steady. I have a tendency to try and keep up with people around me, regardless of how fast they're running, which is usually a lot faster than me, but I stayed where I was comfortable and was searching for Saul at the next half-mile. He was right where he said he'd be, and I couldn't believe how happy it made me to see him, even though I had just left him 15 minutes before. I was feeling really encouraged and knew I could finish this thing.<br />
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The course was flat and through a part of town I know, but don't drive through often, so the scenery was relatively new to me. I hadn't really studied the course map before-hand, which I think ended up working in my favor because I never really knew where I was going and was constantly surprised when I saw a new mile-marker. I stuck with a run 10 minutes, walk 2 minutes method, which worked really well for me. Sometimes I would run longer, but would always walk through the water stations, which were every mile and a half. There were GU stations, too, but GU kind of grosses me out, so I bypassed those. I did not, however, bypass the cute kids that were handing out Oreo's at mile 7 ("Oreo Speed Wagon!"). Yum.<br />
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The first marathoner passed me up when I made it to mile 6 (the course was a loop for the marathoners) and I screamed my head off for him with all the people around me. Oreo at mile 7, and then started raining a little when I hit mile 8 (MILE 8!!!!! FUCK YEAH!) and kept up the whole mile. It was a welcome distraction, and kept me cool.<br />
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Mile 9 was my insane mile. I don't know what the hell got into me, but I was a fucking machine. I was listening to "Good Girl" by Carrie Underwood, and hit repeat twice so I listened to the song the whole mile. Weird because I'm not even a big Carrie Underwood fan, but something about the song had me feeling it, and before I knew it I was rounding the corner to the 10th mile-marker and saw Saul standing on the side of the street, waiting for me. I finished that mile in 9 minutes. WTF. I slowed to a walk and gave him a kiss and a high-five and he told me how proud of me he was and how happy he was to see me doing so well and feeling so good. I left him feeling on top of the world. I was at 2 hours, 9 minutes.<br />
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And then I crashed. I don't know what it was (maybe my crazy pace during mile 9 had something to do with it), but my last 3 miles were just brutal. My breathing was fine, but my feet were killing me. My legs felt great, but every time I struck the ground, my feet felt like someone was taking a jackhammer to my arches. I started to get a little sore behind my left knee, too. My last 3.1 miles were a struggle and I wasn't able to keep the 10/2 system going, but I made it through.<br />
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I finished under 3 hours, which is awesome, but I am so proud of myself just for finishing. The feeling I had while running through the chute and receiving my medal is not one I will ever forget. Seeing friends and family along the course, cheering me on and yelling for me was amazing. I will most definitely run more halfs in the future - I've got my eye on one that goes through Disney World - and will absolutely train better for them.<br />
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Here's to 13.1 ;)<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7fp-T1WGBJEYOHloQvZLqjEzAoMjk_pp7u901a3V6D1h9EgmkRKPU6oWtFrxya5XOTNYeTO_TYv1eOwfryOSdhH0cfsgoeKUJ0nWxD5Ga-4X3MyyH7DAYbAEfvtkgeA1Kx1AFRklpYTG/s1600/Untitled+2.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje7fp-T1WGBJEYOHloQvZLqjEzAoMjk_pp7u901a3V6D1h9EgmkRKPU6oWtFrxya5XOTNYeTO_TYv1eOwfryOSdhH0cfsgoeKUJ0nWxD5Ga-4X3MyyH7DAYbAEfvtkgeA1Kx1AFRklpYTG/s400/Untitled+2.png" width="322" /></a></div><i>Me, Sarah and Genevieve - 1 half and 2 full finishers</i><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg49fnBCgqh7_r7UtALawmLxd66qo1uphEoeoWGzHMUGA_KHUc2z03MXD4RpigmlvkEaMVSjikpbdTcjlxGcPbSdjQNZQ7rYW5Ff7Ssjrwtb3Os9dUrjC2hAF7fLTxOA93r4u3J9TBZRjpW/s1600/Untitled.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg49fnBCgqh7_r7UtALawmLxd66qo1uphEoeoWGzHMUGA_KHUc2z03MXD4RpigmlvkEaMVSjikpbdTcjlxGcPbSdjQNZQ7rYW5Ff7Ssjrwtb3Os9dUrjC2hAF7fLTxOA93r4u3J9TBZRjpW/s400/Untitled.png" width="346" /></a></div><i>Some of our fans and fellow 1/2'ers...love Saul's sign</i><br />
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</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-35593362635932938852012-03-22T14:25:00.000-05:002012-05-23T11:57:16.128-05:00If it be your will<div style="text-align: center;">
On our second date, Saul introduced me to his parents. Compounded with the fact that he forgot my name on our first date, our early dating escapades are something I always give him shit about. He just tells me that he knew a good thing when he saw it!</div>
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We actually intended to go see a movie, but when we got to the theater there was nothing playing we really cared to see - actually, at that point in our lives it was more that we didn't care to PAY to see something...we were both broke as a joke. I was living with my parents at the time and I hadn't even mentioned to them I was seeing someone, so there was no way in hell I was offering up "my" place. He lived on the other side of town (for the first year we dated, we drove 40+ minutes each way to see each other...), so he mentioned his parents lived close and we could just rent a movie and go there. I assumed they were out of town or something. What sane dude would bring a girl to his parent's house on the second date? Um...yeah, that would be the man that is now my husband.</div>
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I followed him to the house and when we pulled up I was shocked to see bright lights in the windows - definite signs that someone was home. Also, I was wearing jeans and a hoodie, which isn't unusual for me (it was February and cold as shit), but it definitely was NOT what I would wear when meeting the parents for the first time. I had makeup on and my hair was done, thank god, but I was still feeling like they would think I was maybe someone he found on the street, begging for food, rather than a girl he CHOSE to call and ask on another date. I was nervous and certain that when I left, that'd likely be the last time I ever saw them or the boy I was slowly starting to like very, very much.</div>
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I couldn't have been more wrong. We walked into the house through the back door and, while they looked a little surprised to see me, welcomed me with comfortable ease and a "so this is her..." to Saul. His dad warmed up to me immediately, making jokes and laughing, while his mom was a little more traditional in the whole "ask a lot of questions so we know what you're about," role, but she was really easy to talk to, as well. By the time she stood up, an hour or so later, and announced she was going to bed, I was genuinely looking forward to my next conversation with her.</div>
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Saul and I had rented a movie (Zorro 2, for inquiring minds), and put it in when his mom went down the hall, expecting his dad to follow suit. He didn't right away, so we just settled back, Saul and I sneaking glances at each other, wondering when we'd be alone to <strike>make-out</strike> talk.</div>
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AN HOUR LATER Larry was still in his chair, hanging out, enjoying the movie. At that point, I decided this was definitely the weirdest date I'd ever been on.</div>
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I don't remember what caused him to get up, but just before the movie was over, he got out of his chair and bid us goodnight. It's something Saul and I have teased him about for years - thanks for intruding on our date, we'd say. Well, thanks for invading my house, he'd say. It was absolutely an odd date, but one I remember with a smile, always.</div>
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Larry passed away on March 13...just a little over a week ago, and I can't believe he is gone. He was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on November 2 - not even 5 months ago. None of us were ready for this, and my heart is just broken for the loss Sue, his wife, and his kids will always feel. I only knew him for 6 years, and I will always feel a little cheated that I didn't get more time.</div>
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He was a Lutheran pastor, which I think I have mentioned here before, and very, very loved throughout the country. He'd worked for a bunch of different churches and knew people all over the world. The man lived quite a life (he was part of a traveling circus band at one point, for crying out loud!), and the impression he made on those he touched was evident at his memorial service, which drew a crowd of about 300 people.</div>
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Walking into the house where I first met him and was greeted by him many times since, knowing I'm not going to hear my usual, "hey babes!" and get a hug from him, stings. I tear up every time I realize that my husband will no longer be able to talk to his dad, or build things with him, or take road trips with him. To me, it is just so, so unfair.</div>
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I don't know when it will feel real. I don't know when it will feel normal to go to the house Saul grew up in and not look for Larry when I walk through the door. I do know I will miss him, and will remember him as he most often was - sitting on his deck in the sun, having great conversations with his family and friends, holding a cigar and smiling.</div>
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I love you, dear Father-in-Law,</div>
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xo</div>
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Hootie</div>
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<br /></div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-28053895348936314442012-02-23T15:15:00.000-06:002012-02-23T15:15:17.873-06:00Mean Green<div style="text-align: center;">For Christmas I got a <a href="http://www.blendtec.com/?gclid=CKyjsL72tK4CFSrCtgod2RnZQg" target="_blank">BlendTech</a> ultra, amazing, could blend cement, blender. Because of it, I can get rid of our regular blender and some other gadget we have in our cabinet because this thing DOES IT ALL! So instead of doing the fun thing and pulverizing a bunch of nails/screws/glass/rocks right off the bat, I did the sensible thing and blended the shit out of some fruit.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Behold, the Mean Green...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6aC5tuyyvIyRirqbIA0TsNN_YXRz6VgJ6jZkunoAgQxsCNJzLVnK35jRRBQTqIgRYnAIsBNSwET9UedcFHqHeBIv2NCaag_-Mk1hC2aJFkAdo9YrhZrlmGpxquj9kUTAqPZUygX5xd53w/s1600/IMG_1191.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6aC5tuyyvIyRirqbIA0TsNN_YXRz6VgJ6jZkunoAgQxsCNJzLVnK35jRRBQTqIgRYnAIsBNSwET9UedcFHqHeBIv2NCaag_-Mk1hC2aJFkAdo9YrhZrlmGpxquj9kUTAqPZUygX5xd53w/s400/IMG_1191.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">That's actually my whole lunch...nom nom nom. Although, grapes with seeds really piss me off.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The Mean Green is seriously GREEN and surprisingly filling. Wanna know what's in it?</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">2 cups (or big handfuls) baby spinach</div><div style="text-align: center;">1 orange</div><div style="text-align: center;">1 Granny Smith apple</div><div style="text-align: center;">1 banana</div><div style="text-align: center;">1 tbsp ground ginger</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I used crystallized ginger, because that's all I had on hand, but I am going to use some fresh ginger next time. Bet it gives it a little extra zing ;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Since I didn't participate in National Margarita Day yesterday, I sipped on this and pretended there was a little Patron in it, and that I was on a beach with the wind blowing through my hair. I suggest you do the same.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">...although, I would not advise putting Patron in this for reals...barf.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Happy Thursday!</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-52559354498450450732012-02-22T14:40:00.000-06:002012-02-22T14:40:09.385-06:00Life via Instagram<div style="text-align: center;">If you follow me on Instagram you've already seen all these, but seeing as how I have posted jack shit for the last month, you get snapshots of it all. Fill in the blanks with your imaginations ;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">New Year's Eve Day, in the frozen tundra<br />
aka Fargo, ND</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Snowmobiling on a frozen lake. <br />
Yeah...just about as smart and safe as it sounds.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLpQuaCQevAOrgmqGbx4Lmg63-K0XO0DUNWGmTq4deZ2foB9XNAe25ZbcCrarNfKNGqU6ANYBx1rgB7nXdjaRTd63_hmpi1elEW_9_yFa8gEeZJUrCw8hSvTbKRUIilcTi0fwh98mNo1l/s1600/IMG_1052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRLpQuaCQevAOrgmqGbx4Lmg63-K0XO0DUNWGmTq4deZ2foB9XNAe25ZbcCrarNfKNGqU6ANYBx1rgB7nXdjaRTd63_hmpi1elEW_9_yFa8gEeZJUrCw8hSvTbKRUIilcTi0fwh98mNo1l/s400/IMG_1052.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Out on the frozen lake.<br />
The only thing separating me and hypothermia/death is 4 inches of ice. </td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO89t-_KavT5kDQ5qSvwmbxdoJtIGuLz9D-rcUHsRpaalxUciqz6NfCKvdmCnDkaNwPWRZn1St8rV753LGwmTAk5Z9dQLnOqPP1RFetjNxNyaxWx8LQ0u5tSQurRK2hkIMAm_XKIGcE1Xv/s1600/IMG_0994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgO89t-_KavT5kDQ5qSvwmbxdoJtIGuLz9D-rcUHsRpaalxUciqz6NfCKvdmCnDkaNwPWRZn1St8rV753LGwmTAk5Z9dQLnOqPP1RFetjNxNyaxWx8LQ0u5tSQurRK2hkIMAm_XKIGcE1Xv/s400/IMG_0994.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Christmas Cactus blooms again!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">We keep it classy in our house.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunny morning at the Distillery2520</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Texans fell that day, but we drowned all our sorrows away...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TSFhnRdr7dCdUtwhQVYNvjDvtwz8scSIlWKyjMrgdhfdTUuARrljM7gRMsie23ery4vaaf9jospQdEHMjajPCcPE9MkbeUd0eqBGsPDEKmQBDrOeEx2muBeOuXNIqcN2xftSTmCiL7eC/s1600/IMG_1082.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9TSFhnRdr7dCdUtwhQVYNvjDvtwz8scSIlWKyjMrgdhfdTUuARrljM7gRMsie23ery4vaaf9jospQdEHMjajPCcPE9MkbeUd0eqBGsPDEKmQBDrOeEx2muBeOuXNIqcN2xftSTmCiL7eC/s400/IMG_1082.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Red and sparkly...not just for hookers.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ROLLing in the deep...</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmvyGE5aL_8paPlxRKRXY-4_93MwC2EG1Hc8zx3xIWj6t3xIFXeK55Lfh2-hK5B2wnneqqgifhI7PNUu866-QEDzgiTc8J1UNGmhOsFvfhjw8tLfbQUtW4PNy2mzunEzIKgRlW6crSNbn/s1600/IMG_1111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxmvyGE5aL_8paPlxRKRXY-4_93MwC2EG1Hc8zx3xIWj6t3xIFXeK55Lfh2-hK5B2wnneqqgifhI7PNUu866-QEDzgiTc8J1UNGmhOsFvfhjw8tLfbQUtW4PNy2mzunEzIKgRlW6crSNbn/s400/IMG_1111.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#lovesofmylife</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMgI-IKVLz3kAS5xAUjBqGbKzrUoy7UEFKFcXvRK9oBm7-SJ_pIpwKxMTqP9ol9ZebKd64Ivv2JRZXBzIYM1U15az71wswD5Y8fzv4VkRpLneyQNuzYSp8U2EcwpP4pLRoZ9qdChCBmhS/s1600/IMG_1117.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqMgI-IKVLz3kAS5xAUjBqGbKzrUoy7UEFKFcXvRK9oBm7-SJ_pIpwKxMTqP9ol9ZebKd64Ivv2JRZXBzIYM1U15az71wswD5Y8fzv4VkRpLneyQNuzYSp8U2EcwpP4pLRoZ9qdChCBmhS/s400/IMG_1117.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">She looks deceptively demure...don't let the eyes fool ya.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEC7yzoSIf7pg0uWXWO3cCEd5WtPlTvYeflzwUy-h1wCqVh5RVrVTqX3YoewvOkXdnAlYEwDZt2iD91LppPAN7k1Jts351PIMf8-KYVRYXnJJzrvwHfZ61ufg_8r0lNz3H0shQKIJxCDO/s1600/IMG_1135.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivEC7yzoSIf7pg0uWXWO3cCEd5WtPlTvYeflzwUy-h1wCqVh5RVrVTqX3YoewvOkXdnAlYEwDZt2iD91LppPAN7k1Jts351PIMf8-KYVRYXnJJzrvwHfZ61ufg_8r0lNz3H0shQKIJxCDO/s400/IMG_1135.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cheeeeeeese</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgprEucPNwF_sZXvak_3JcdoiQ66bVGu_stkDbZZYd7jRsozrn_2UfOJtAm3mIiSY54iNTuXoTkwDtfrUXvwbDVTfdeeuD1glNRhM4nEw-Jrt_PlAlIQMLkGR-y-pM47-nU80eC_4tuRwOG/s1600/IMG_1137.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgprEucPNwF_sZXvak_3JcdoiQ66bVGu_stkDbZZYd7jRsozrn_2UfOJtAm3mIiSY54iNTuXoTkwDtfrUXvwbDVTfdeeuD1glNRhM4nEw-Jrt_PlAlIQMLkGR-y-pM47-nU80eC_4tuRwOG/s400/IMG_1137.JPG" width="398" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Someone's got their crabby pants on...<br />
...wait, I'd like to go back...</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijiImZR2-6OjIISzjsCckI-wpEK8tWj-iGs15PUhSwOqQZoBD3dXRcJt0iNa88oy5z7zy5gUzd4dqcquHl8-_1KjNqttlBNHvdPcjh3PjanqcwAr1nUbmF-CX6kl64JtajIiw5pkYZswtP/s1600/IMG_1147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijiImZR2-6OjIISzjsCckI-wpEK8tWj-iGs15PUhSwOqQZoBD3dXRcJt0iNa88oy5z7zy5gUzd4dqcquHl8-_1KjNqttlBNHvdPcjh3PjanqcwAr1nUbmF-CX6kl64JtajIiw5pkYZswtP/s400/IMG_1147.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">February in Texas</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifu5pTDgt2UC6aSaWtWokhjMrM00YtKDJ-zZlfJblXdmXIkX0NzVKaQdx3jjHo0EiQJ_k4lsaPX6ZUDzi0amIFKyfVMnWV9DPTGCMF_xhMHeJAzsv2bQnVjtOlUoQVOK_GXkEA3mhW4-Lm/s1600/IMG_1151.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifu5pTDgt2UC6aSaWtWokhjMrM00YtKDJ-zZlfJblXdmXIkX0NzVKaQdx3jjHo0EiQJ_k4lsaPX6ZUDzi0amIFKyfVMnWV9DPTGCMF_xhMHeJAzsv2bQnVjtOlUoQVOK_GXkEA3mhW4-Lm/s400/IMG_1151.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Living room blanket fort, built by my 32 year-old husband and friends.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMytwTs5l34WSXkJZjTfIx-kD10uQq6Bj9wEe_u2ZIRu18KY2LsDfze2Iwbqr8fQd5IKoaUF-PzyAkF0TaEVrFD0Xa3PKQjDImwQggOf6Axr29MWIwqsJtmXCGhU202INZxH4YA2upUFDw/s1600/IMG_1156.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMytwTs5l34WSXkJZjTfIx-kD10uQq6Bj9wEe_u2ZIRu18KY2LsDfze2Iwbqr8fQd5IKoaUF-PzyAkF0TaEVrFD0Xa3PKQjDImwQggOf6Axr29MWIwqsJtmXCGhU202INZxH4YA2upUFDw/s400/IMG_1156.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Squeeze of lemon, dash of horseradish - all good, my friends, all good.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjPbDwP_NUWwdFSf9JfdxXprUFmv9iqgdrB2QZGGnB8oL5u7Vwbj1VVMS7kMGzkA6lbf8UR8j-8YtifapF1EYaxgXsIYzi6tNqTXQu9Yr68V6uBHXvFqwde-n23LnlttfZlcecO6apXQu/s1600/IMG_1161.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqjPbDwP_NUWwdFSf9JfdxXprUFmv9iqgdrB2QZGGnB8oL5u7Vwbj1VVMS7kMGzkA6lbf8UR8j-8YtifapF1EYaxgXsIYzi6tNqTXQu9Yr68V6uBHXvFqwde-n23LnlttfZlcecO6apXQu/s400/IMG_1161.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">He's into me</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqWmXEAJ9b7u3tshpNkWAeGaOWFYefN-RY9W1-dkkUcx63MnnIStbR-k22jEh5VTgyUmVTAaOoqeUAelG7kW_wXJfex-H6l74Di7BQx6QLEetTac3mw-tAaJI6RuyxMplnK7Wgy9fonh6/s1600/IMG_1165.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvqWmXEAJ9b7u3tshpNkWAeGaOWFYefN-RY9W1-dkkUcx63MnnIStbR-k22jEh5VTgyUmVTAaOoqeUAelG7kW_wXJfex-H6l74Di7BQx6QLEetTac3mw-tAaJI6RuyxMplnK7Wgy9fonh6/s400/IMG_1165.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">This only LOOKS like abuse. She loves it.</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8n6j02MHYCW8ex3tbaJ8tF_KqYpumCYmdS4gJGjL-GUhHcikKwVkr3Wl3hy6vuS0R-AJpED6kBCcsrBGXi_9TEp27qawCxozhermHsBKL5yEhjIKC-yn_L8NVpPezdWudCIv4zd4Gy8hP/s1600/IMG_1173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8n6j02MHYCW8ex3tbaJ8tF_KqYpumCYmdS4gJGjL-GUhHcikKwVkr3Wl3hy6vuS0R-AJpED6kBCcsrBGXi_9TEp27qawCxozhermHsBKL5yEhjIKC-yn_L8NVpPezdWudCIv4zd4Gy8hP/s400/IMG_1173.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BFF's since the 11th grade.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0YouYZvpRlCyL7Y9BpEHZ3hs-em0Z9ZnCj0pH-iYqBVHkQoDKd21QRf_0xq2rX86SZCJh97sAbFmpDoGkzA8SEquYESOooqOOZEQydUSNSGBeUaWvSIZO26T42AUlcvvu3umSMJmEICuf/s1600/IMG_1182.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0YouYZvpRlCyL7Y9BpEHZ3hs-em0Z9ZnCj0pH-iYqBVHkQoDKd21QRf_0xq2rX86SZCJh97sAbFmpDoGkzA8SEquYESOooqOOZEQydUSNSGBeUaWvSIZO26T42AUlcvvu3umSMJmEICuf/s400/IMG_1182.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">#wedrinkalot<br />
<br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
Follow me on Instgram - @cakeene</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-5136297398232986312012-01-06T13:25:00.000-06:002012-01-06T13:25:01.492-06:00Run, run, run, run...Girl's gonna run<div style="text-align: center;">So I know I said I would be writing about our trip way the hell up north to MN for NYE, but I also mentioned a certain goal I was working toward and kind of left it at that. Am I the only one who gets irritated when people mention stuff and say they'll tell you later, and then never do? Maybe I just have more nosy bones than your average bear in my body, but it drives me fucking bonkers! Even if the news isn't all that ground-breaking, you said you'd bring it back up, so BRING IT BACK UP.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">With that, my news isn't super amazeballs or anything, but it's a huge deal for me and I know that putting it out on the blog will only motivate me further, so here goes...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I have officially signed up for my first half marathon!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">{crickets}</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Right. So I know it's a half, but good Lord, that's about 10 miles further than I had ever run (until last month), and I am pumped/terrified. I know I can do it. I have been training since Thanksgiving, although I will admit to using the term "training" pretty loosely up to this week. I really was just focusing on building my fitness up and figuring out what kind of pace I was really comfortable with.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">FYI...</div><div style="text-align: center;">Comfy pace for CK = REALLY FUCKING SLOW</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">That's not entirely true, but I <i>am</i> rocking out comfortable 11 minute miles right now when I would really like to be closer to the 9 or 10 minute range, which I can do when running shorter distances, but it's all about finishing for me on this first one. It's about saying <u>I did it</u>. And it's about getting motivated to do more and eventually do a full marathon (I have my eye on the DisneyWorld Marathon in 2013 for my 30th...). I was hooked on 5Ks after running my first one in 2010 and I know that this is just the next step in continuing to build my love for running.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Also, I am hoping to repair some of the damage I've done to this body of mine over the last few years. If you've read a while, you might remember the "Think Thin Thursday" blogs. Those were used to keep me motivated to lose weight for a trip to Mexico and then in 2011 I straight up jumped off and then blew up that wagon. I've GOT to get my body back in the shape it's meant to be in...no more laziness for this chick.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I feel like it's important for me to emphasize that I'm not doing the half JUST to lose weight, though. I really want to knock this accomplishment off my list, and if I lose a few pounds while doing it, that would be awesome. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">...I don't know why I felt that was so important to emphasize, but there ya go.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The race is March 3 (<a href="http://www.thewoodlandsmarathon.com/">The Woodlands Marathon</a>) and I have a few other friends running the full that day, but I am pretty much running the half on my own, which suits me just fine. I have been training alone so I am used to it. Any tips to offer? I am building my milage and tomorrow is my first 5 mile run. My training program takes me up to 10 miles, which kind of freaks me out because HELLO - there are still another 3 to finish (!!), but I did a lot of research before choosing this program. I still know literally nothing about GUs or sport beans or anything like that. My goal is to finish, and if that means I have to crawl my ragged ass across that finish line then damnit, that's what I'll do!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">HELP!!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-85709116809466019822012-01-05T14:47:00.000-06:002012-01-05T14:47:39.428-06:002012?? Hope those crazy Mayans were wrong...<div style="text-align: center;">It feels a little dumb to do a Christmas recap on January the 5th...clearly one of my resolutions was not to "be a better blogger." I don't actually ever really make resolutions, anyway. To me, they are just some lame goal I get inspired to keep up with for like 2 weeks (ok, 1...), and then by the middle of January I feel like an epic failure at life, so why put myself through that torture, right? I do, however, have a solid GOAL I am working towards - more on that later.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Christmas was fucking crazy this year, and I can hear people going, "crazier than last year? Because MY Christmas is always just a shit show!" and I have to say, usually our holiday season isn't that nuts. It's busy, sure, but it's generally the same routine year after year, with the occasional addition of a niece. This year, though, with Saul's dad being a full-on radiation/chemo cancer patient, things were a bit different.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">First, he asked that all his siblings and their kids come into town to celebrate with us. He asked after Thanksgiving, so it was pretty late notice for some of them. His rationale for this was, simply stated, "I don't want the next time we all get together to be at my funeral," which, ok morbid, but makes complete sense.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Second, as of December 17, he was still in the hospital, and we weren't 100% sure when he would be getting out. He ended up actually being released that evening, but trying to make Christmas plans around hospital visiting hours really sucks the Christmas spirit out of everyone, y'know? He's now home and doing well, so Christmas was very merry.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Third, as we got closer to Christmas, shit on my side of the family starting blowing up like fucking fireworks. An uncle in the hospital, a cousin in serious trouble, my parents possibly leaving like, Christmas Eve to go to California, and my brother wasn't coming home - boo hoo.</div><div style="text-align: center;">But, as we've done through all the other shit 2011 has thrown at us, we forged ahead. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Saul's family being in town was something we were all totally looking forward to. His cousins stayed with us which was basically a 9-day party at our house (die liver, die!) , and seeing the aunts and uncles was awesome. It did wonderful things for my father-in-law's spirits, too. He requested we all go to church together on Christmas Eve, which Saul and I haven't done in years, so that was nice.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Christmas Eve church threw a few of my family's plans out of wack, though. Nothing that couldn't be shuffled around, but that was part of what made the holiday scheduling wonky. Every year on Christmas Eve, my mom makes a Japanese dinner. My g-ma has done it ever since I can remember and it's one of my favorite things about the holiday season. Sesame noodles, fried rice, sushi, tempura shrimp, and Gyoza - basically, Japanese tacos. YUM. It's also pretty much a giant drink-fest at my parent's house. We planned to do the big dinner on Dec 23, and we invited the cousins to come with.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The 22nd, I started to get super sad that little bro wasn't coming home. More sad at the thought of him spending the holiday ALONE in Oklahoma - seriously, are there worse places?? - than sad for myself, but sad nonetheless. I sent him some pretty bleak texts the morning of the 23rd and he reassured me that he was fine and was sad too, but that we'd be able to see each other soon and that we could Skype later that night. My dad got a call from him that evening and I pulled my laptop out to set up a Skype session. People had been coming over all day - our friends always drop in to say hi and eat - so when the door opened, I didn't think anything of it. It wasn't until I heard my dad yell, "NO WAY!" that I turned around.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">LITTLE BROTHER WAS HOME!!!!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ZN8tVxyKczvpdVW7XnR9sHGDWCUmirwyXgBO1Cucq7lls4VrCcqPyQz6DXIGiCvlcb_ygeV80-YvpiaYhU56cjrAYCyFqVLTtrDgy3wCnnw_GHEI3m8l4Y53mX7W33DmM28mfQko7rmC/s1600/374352_558522944176_79500346_31203473_133466961_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ZN8tVxyKczvpdVW7XnR9sHGDWCUmirwyXgBO1Cucq7lls4VrCcqPyQz6DXIGiCvlcb_ygeV80-YvpiaYhU56cjrAYCyFqVLTtrDgy3wCnnw_GHEI3m8l4Y53mX7W33DmM28mfQko7rmC/s400/374352_558522944176_79500346_31203473_133466961_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;">I immediately started bawling and was just a fucking mess for like 10 minutes. My mom had known he was sneaking in, but kept it a secret from everyone else. I was so, so, SO happy that he had made it for Christmas and beyond thrilled that he wouldn't be sitting in his apartment, totally alone on Christmas morning. My Christmas became amazing in that moment. And then we all got very drunk.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Christmas Eve church was great - there were 20 of us and we took up 4 pews. Early Christmas morning was spent at Saul's parent's house, watching the nieces open their mounds of gifts. The giant family gift exchange came next. At about 2, we took off to meet my parents and brother at our house, which was awesome because we've never done a big holiday at our house before. We opened gifts and drank A LOT of wine and ate chicken tacos, a new Christmas tradition. The cousins came back and we watched some Christmas movies (too toasted to remember which, at that point) and then passed out.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">It was definitely an untraditional, but very merry Christmas ;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Next up, NYE in the frozen tundra...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-11238245980603937242011-12-20T12:54:00.000-06:002011-12-20T12:54:15.862-06:00Life lately<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">According to my iPhone...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4k5-H7wnEeIrPEx4tmF7Eohb4yByd0AILp5LnWRLPDaBhR0KOffeP5T1uQtDpX3Yh2C1dFh454HRczKJ0W_4Acw2gS5oM5Sm6u3oNdjtvGBKWahSt_N6h0QDsyjLxpSqNvI9Fd8auDYYB/s1600/IMG_0877.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4k5-H7wnEeIrPEx4tmF7Eohb4yByd0AILp5LnWRLPDaBhR0KOffeP5T1uQtDpX3Yh2C1dFh454HRczKJ0W_4Acw2gS5oM5Sm6u3oNdjtvGBKWahSt_N6h0QDsyjLxpSqNvI9Fd8auDYYB/s400/IMG_0877.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Bella says HI!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFlomQ-C_HY7q7M_dsI5M89NdI-43UpH7FOgEBKYHIwOYyGoH2eFLIEHhLWWLelWcP_JIu2ssli_cQE5B-edWVQ_LAW-SEUOkuCme8b9VXp36ids67sDVVeJLKASvgn-AB7Tx89BIjBQE9/s1600/IMG_0874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFlomQ-C_HY7q7M_dsI5M89NdI-43UpH7FOgEBKYHIwOYyGoH2eFLIEHhLWWLelWcP_JIu2ssli_cQE5B-edWVQ_LAW-SEUOkuCme8b9VXp36ids67sDVVeJLKASvgn-AB7Tx89BIjBQE9/s400/IMG_0874.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> The best part of waking up...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLzOuIkzsvDg0s0ETGSJ08kl9sX7b2Yvol3h0o7LXyvq3gR-ujz7BLXR9bupMFEtBroSEYz1bMN64Wugl0WtAYvSyz7j69RN01B6aez1jKP3tD2sElBdn7eNqrx0jkENFv0-H_DjLzUkBF/s1600/IMG_0928.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLzOuIkzsvDg0s0ETGSJ08kl9sX7b2Yvol3h0o7LXyvq3gR-ujz7BLXR9bupMFEtBroSEYz1bMN64Wugl0WtAYvSyz7j69RN01B6aez1jKP3tD2sElBdn7eNqrx0jkENFv0-H_DjLzUkBF/s400/IMG_0928.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Cute blonde nieces love the mac 'n cheese</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2Ru0h4AjIBhHSMzXIhNw4gOIrqnmh2VmhR0EsMl1NHev6c384JS2NyJu-_JCDR1EHlVYIG4gagdW9W7ug690rz34ic8sAJxM3Jk8ofeSpqNpuq-igmn6VlNfRz4jeJUeaiYpVBIs2j6F/s1600/IMG_0910.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV2Ru0h4AjIBhHSMzXIhNw4gOIrqnmh2VmhR0EsMl1NHev6c384JS2NyJu-_JCDR1EHlVYIG4gagdW9W7ug690rz34ic8sAJxM3Jk8ofeSpqNpuq-igmn6VlNfRz4jeJUeaiYpVBIs2j6F/s400/IMG_0910.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Foggy</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXd35UPLxGaBPsZqK_KcTbEdr06Wi6iINNBWn72TTZSHkr-pXuHE_1zqgLbvZC4kaF7ayXc2L8YVTeltpRix7J8ozLoRjDSX2N3AaLKBTrGfTGpWX4SlCWxY33w7jDaCd6GXxxs4b8VvR/s1600/IMG_0929.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheXd35UPLxGaBPsZqK_KcTbEdr06Wi6iINNBWn72TTZSHkr-pXuHE_1zqgLbvZC4kaF7ayXc2L8YVTeltpRix7J8ozLoRjDSX2N3AaLKBTrGfTGpWX4SlCWxY33w7jDaCd6GXxxs4b8VvR/s400/IMG_0929.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Other cute nieces love ice cream and yoga</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOyjNpMOJBaKMi2nQQIBPJy4B508zbgYQJP1_j_wxRY9mAV8llxGcN3SBiR0WKfvK5rDjuo3CDrbKEuTWxsVnjXXX1yV3_xkBXSZyXgtiv3grru-386szGehOBofh2KHXOdgtBgTyKxwln/s1600/DSC_0071.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOyjNpMOJBaKMi2nQQIBPJy4B508zbgYQJP1_j_wxRY9mAV8llxGcN3SBiR0WKfvK5rDjuo3CDrbKEuTWxsVnjXXX1yV3_xkBXSZyXgtiv3grru-386szGehOBofh2KHXOdgtBgTyKxwln/s400/DSC_0071.JPG" width="266" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Absinthe and cheese? YES PLEASE.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-fvlyhI9Lq1eItoL8OtcltEErh8STup35sQ_1YJazE41ItzCoQrafaVqQF87wU9nLV9cW6Tvd6xHXP4GBJoxvg3cINFmMW2MT_M66QLrpngVcfaHz0exZUohS4cM4iRFjG6TZeH_g0bu/s1600/IMG_0644.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1-fvlyhI9Lq1eItoL8OtcltEErh8STup35sQ_1YJazE41ItzCoQrafaVqQF87wU9nLV9cW6Tvd6xHXP4GBJoxvg3cINFmMW2MT_M66QLrpngVcfaHz0exZUohS4cM4iRFjG6TZeH_g0bu/s400/IMG_0644.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"> Bagel Thin Hawaiian Pizza</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9UGG5Ks8sflv8cH06xgUES9bMQlvosHqxhatAfK_tuXQEo0_4_HXJFE2MLIrOnGHTnPONOAhBmUUNxZFHZmG2ArfmFk0kyKERIm_LPuFXIMOZBClif2htAdsdsu_aL1WSm3jwww_VPdic/s1600/IMG_0810.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9UGG5Ks8sflv8cH06xgUES9bMQlvosHqxhatAfK_tuXQEo0_4_HXJFE2MLIrOnGHTnPONOAhBmUUNxZFHZmG2ArfmFk0kyKERIm_LPuFXIMOZBClif2htAdsdsu_aL1WSm3jwww_VPdic/s400/IMG_0810.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">So sad you won't be home for Christmas...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-69754151933779391722011-12-07T10:32:00.000-06:002011-12-07T10:32:54.805-06:00Christmas wishes<div style="text-align: center;">Answering the "what do you want for Christmas" question is always hard for me. It didn't used to be - if you'd asked me 6 or 7 years ago, I'd have given you a laminated list. In recent years, though, I've realized that if I want something I can just go out and buy it myself - so let's be clear that it's not for lack of wanting things - I'm just pretty impatient that way. Come December, there isn't a whole lot on my wish list that I don't already have.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">When in doubt, buy me alcohol.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Saul's mom asked me what I wanted this year, though, and told me I couldn't say NOTHING, so here are a few things I have seen that I wouldn't be angry about receiving...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNWltyu-UMgRVM7wamaA8tDp_91ybkWBERZOp3T_YFVckEgfmEZzqEKf_P2PckVu1yEXuY0JTubo2Le2ISQYb97MZVShxZUjZ_mvUMSu7_MU6IMRlt3MzjV9OMht2MMoQe8hiQ1tHs4iZ/s1600/Collage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoNWltyu-UMgRVM7wamaA8tDp_91ybkWBERZOp3T_YFVckEgfmEZzqEKf_P2PckVu1yEXuY0JTubo2Le2ISQYb97MZVShxZUjZ_mvUMSu7_MU6IMRlt3MzjV9OMht2MMoQe8hiQ1tHs4iZ/s400/Collage.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Top row: Rhino Mount - ZGallerie. Sequin Top - Forever21. Magenta Dress - Lulus.com</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Middle Row: Bedding - Anthropologie. Faux Leopard Coat - Lulus.com. Silk Sparrow Tank - Forever21.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Bottom Row: Dip Dye Sweatshirt - Urban Outfitters. Riding Boot - Urban Outfitters. Gold Dress - Lulus.com. Leopard Heels - Forever21.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;">Saul says he knows what he's getting me and I know what I'm getting him (even though he already knows...I'll have details soon), so Christmas this year will be fun ;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Also, in the spirit of the day - a little story:</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">My dad is Japanese. My mother's family is not. My mom's dad would jokingly (well, kind of) not allow my dad in his house on December 6th - Pearl Harbor Day. Playful racism at it's finest, Ganddad!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Happy Hump Day!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-6890813602344323872011-12-01T11:29:00.000-06:002011-12-01T11:29:12.056-06:00Giblets have gristle?<div style="text-align: center;">First - thank you so much for the comments and positive thoughts for my father-in-law. He's making progress (still in the hospital, though), and he knows there are tons of people out there rooting for him, so his spirits are up. Pancreatic cancer is a scary motherfucker to deal with, though, so keep the good vibes coming!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Needless to say, our Thanksgiving this year was a little, um...different? FIL was in the hospital, my brother didn't make it home, and my sister-in-law was having neurosurgery. Yeah - that would be surgery on HER BRAIN. She's fine - it was surgery to correct a severe facial twitch she's had for like, 7 years - but HOLY FUCKING CHRIST, you guys. <br />
<br />
Also, since the normal chefs for the holiday were obviously out of commission, the cooking duties fell to those of us who had not recently been operated on. I had to cook Thanksgiving. I was officially freaking out for like 2 weeks.<br />
<br />
We planned the menu and divided the food up. I was in charge of the stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and sweet potatoes - basically my husband's favorite part of Thanksgiving. No pressure. Also, he definitely didn't tell me a few thousand times before the 24th that if the potatoes and gravy were messed up, his turkey day would be ruined. FUCK.<br />
<br />
So what did I do, you ask?<br />
I did what any good leader does and delegated the shit out of that shit.<br />
<br />
Hey Saul? Your favorite part of Thanksgiving is the mashed p's? Then YOU make them!<br />
<br />
Oh, and make them he did...13 g'damn pounds of them. You think I'm joking. Yeah...I'm 100% serious. And they were delicious!<br />
<br />
The gravy was awesome. The sweet potatoes were a hit. The stuffing...well...um...<br />
<br />
Ok, so I am a pretty decent cook. I make stuff up on the fly. I can follow a recipe and tweak it if I need to omit/substitute something due to Saul's sometimes weirdly picky palette. I've never made stuffing before, so that was the dish I was sweating the most. I got my MIL's recipe and followed it word for word. The only part I thought was kind of odd was the line that specified "boiling the giblets and chopping them up very fine" to add to the dressing before baking, but I've obviously eaten the dressing she has made in years past and I loved it, so I did what it said.<br />
<br />
Ok - I'd just like to again reiterate how I HAVE NEVER MADE DRESSING BEFORE. I've also never worked with giblets/gizzards/livers/other internal turkey grossness. We're clear on that, right? NEVER EVER.<br />
<br />
Ok, continue reading...<br />
<br />
So I boil the contents of the little bag of yuck and pull them out to chop them up. I was getting some help from a family friend who has done Thanksgiving cooking before, so I assumed she knew what the hell was going on. Assumption 1, wrong. As we are cutting them up, they just seem really tough. I'm like, dang - these suckers are kind of rubbery! And she's all, well, maybe they'll break down when they bake? And I'm all, the recipe says to do it, so we do it! We chopped them as small as we could get them and then added them to the pan. Bake away, giblets, bake away.<br />
<br />
Everything smelled wonderful and the whole family loaded their plates to eat. We sat down and everyone commented on how great it all looked. I ate a bite of turkey (YUM!), a bite of mashed potatoes and gravy (DIVINE!), and then dove into the stuffing.<br />
<br />
OH MY GOD, WHAT THE FUCK AM I CHEWING?!?<br />
<br />
It felt like I was eating turkey gum. Turkey gum that never got softer, and never dissolved. Y'all - it was NASTY. I took a quick look around the table to see what everyone else's reaction was. Thankfully, no one at the table said anything - I am pretty sure I would have died of embarrassment - but I noticed people kind of pushing the stuffing around. I ate around the rubbery bits because the rest was legitimately good, but I was really disappointed that I had so fantastically fucked it up.<br />
<br />
After dinner was over, I cornered my MIL and asked her what the hell I had done wrong. She laughed and was all, you didn't cut the gristle out! I was like, I did not know about the gristle. Your recipe did not specify. <br />
<br />
She handed me a glass of wine and told me Thanksgiving is about learning something new each year and taking it forward with you to the next. I drank my whole glass in one gulp and told her I had learned that I am never ever EVER cooking the Thanksgiving meal again.<br />
<br />
</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-85592526283566014252011-11-17T15:45:00.002-06:002011-11-18T08:15:18.154-06:00Well, hello...<div style="text-align: center;">So obviously things have been busy since last time we met...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Halloween was a cluster - ask any of us that went out together that night if we actually remember coming home. That would be a resounding NO. Saul and I went towards the city, to the Washington area, to meet up with some friends. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">**I'd like to make it clear that this is not an area of the city that we ever go to, except when I am out for a Bachelorette party. It's a fun strip in the afternoon, but come sundown, the creepers come a'crawlin'. Basically it's a giant meat-market - lots of muscled-up dudes, short-skirted chicks, and fake IDs. Not my scene.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Saul dressed as a yodeler, which was awesome for 2 reasons, the first being that HE WAS A FUCKING YODELER, and the second being that he actually already owned everything he wore, down to the feathered cap. And let me just tell you, that shit looked authentic.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I had no clue what to dress as, so I just took a bunch of crap down with me, and ended up with a crazy bronzed face, sweatband and track suit. Call me a Guido! </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I found receipts from bars I had literally no recollection of going to, and vaguely remember eating a taco on the street in front of El Rey. The boys got kicked out of a bar, apparently. </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">We felt awesome the next day.</div><div style="text-align: center;">It was a good time, though, I'm sure.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">2 days later, life imploded when we were presented with the news that Saul's dad has pancreatic cancer. He was diagnosed Wednesday and was in surgery on Monday, undergoing the famed Whipple procedure to extract the tumor residing on his pancreas. The doctors have all been really optimistic, telling him that as far as pancreatic cancer diagnoses/prognoses go, this is pretty much a best case scenario. Needless to say, this rocked our world.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">We've been going back and forth to the hospital each day to visit. He was completely sedated and on a ventilator to regulate his oxygen intake for 6 full days after the surgery. The breathing tube came out Monday morning and he is becoming more lucid and coherent each day. His lungs and heart are in excellent condition, which is great because he's got a hell of a road in front of him. He's still in ICU, being monitored, hopefully getting transferred to a room on a normal floor tonight or tomorrow. Once that happens we'll all find out more about his recovery and status of the cancer.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Maybe it seems strange to some that this doesn't get it's own post, but I couldn't bring myself to treat this news that way. To me, cancer is like someone who blows up a shopping mall just so they can get on TV. I won't give it that attention. Yes, it is a reality in our lives now. Yes, we do have to live with the possibilities and uncertainty it presents. It's scary and unfair and really fucking pisses me off.<br />
<br />
I debated even writing about it all, but honestly, it's been what we've been living the last 2 weeks. Also because I know that while I am not known in the blogging world, I do have a few regular commenters and any good thoughts and positive vibes you all can put out there would be much appreciated. Maybe tell another friend or two. I don't pray much, but I don't discount the power of it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">xoxo</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-35765085834750448332011-10-18T12:27:00.000-05:002011-10-18T12:27:52.184-05:00Crazy girl...<div style="text-align: center;">Weekend before last, my baby cousin got married. She also turned 22. It was quite a celebration.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">She did things a bit backwards (had a baby, got engaged, got married), but that's how she rolls and I couldn't be happier for her. She and her husband - <i>ohmygod</i> - are finishing school and are living with my aunt and uncle to save money. Sad thing - they live in Virginia, so I don't get to see them near as often as I'd like. They were in town the whole week before the wedding, so lots of wine was consumed (a few glasses broken), and we hung out a lot. Oh, and I was in the wedding, so there's that.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Her wedding was held at a private residence, and there were probably about 100 people there. They were married in the front yard, overlooking a pond.</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPD_ckeRspVO4xF9cOz7_VDDCcbVoKWGaJKbxhwrnzLK5ENmIB_8XetHA5zpzekLAj0wX1ezbPGdQ41_3BTSM8Do8BpH2iGTFsGp2KKveMKc1mUxZvlB37_SBDeXq1ZmqqXHu3Cm3xKlTN/s1600/296680_2450711233024_1409303976_2836378_641174011_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPD_ckeRspVO4xF9cOz7_VDDCcbVoKWGaJKbxhwrnzLK5ENmIB_8XetHA5zpzekLAj0wX1ezbPGdQ41_3BTSM8Do8BpH2iGTFsGp2KKveMKc1mUxZvlB37_SBDeXq1ZmqqXHu3Cm3xKlTN/s400/296680_2450711233024_1409303976_2836378_641174011_n.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Here comes the bride</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijC7GCX63iqxrecSSoSPFp6QXdrY1Stw6JKKCHqKdQTgDT_lLV4EERCCblUZytgBnHX6ExCCNawAaS9AwwaxbAwWEVdWeOHNybbUhKfAOajBaG6YDYnXlKxCOk85ILCOSLJV2-keI8x1eN/s1600/316566_2450712033044_1409303976_2836381_854886160_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijC7GCX63iqxrecSSoSPFp6QXdrY1Stw6JKKCHqKdQTgDT_lLV4EERCCblUZytgBnHX6ExCCNawAaS9AwwaxbAwWEVdWeOHNybbUhKfAOajBaG6YDYnXlKxCOk85ILCOSLJV2-keI8x1eN/s320/316566_2450712033044_1409303976_2836381_854886160_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a><br />
<i>All we are are bridesmaids dresses and veils in the wind...</i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJuX-sa9gS4g_3fz0af51Z9O0oGVcweNfjsP12dVaJI1lNr89m2KD90Rwnz7vuZ1dEFgCfEkWrvhJkUVvtPQzPcUWrjjfYT-LX9iIKx5NGgdqfEsNjQuVnFgXaG2Ehg49vy1-dAmP6sZ3D/s1600/309846_2450713953092_1409303976_2836388_1219740729_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJuX-sa9gS4g_3fz0af51Z9O0oGVcweNfjsP12dVaJI1lNr89m2KD90Rwnz7vuZ1dEFgCfEkWrvhJkUVvtPQzPcUWrjjfYT-LX9iIKx5NGgdqfEsNjQuVnFgXaG2Ehg49vy1-dAmP6sZ3D/s400/309846_2450713953092_1409303976_2836388_1219740729_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></span></i><br />
<i>You may kiss the bride</i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHi30vNCcZ_8LbGXSnrGVJsx_FZfmN8zfP94hrPzOUoRXzGKPDwXc4XsLj73hPJXrNwZeyACqZFRcDght-2792BONuLQcVFA7SDBg8MMJuwu59eKNhHKtn54dNEIvFSK33JGnOD2y4GwH/s1600/313047_10150317807897091_543717090_8511889_1128612239_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKHi30vNCcZ_8LbGXSnrGVJsx_FZfmN8zfP94hrPzOUoRXzGKPDwXc4XsLj73hPJXrNwZeyACqZFRcDght-2792BONuLQcVFA7SDBg8MMJuwu59eKNhHKtn54dNEIvFSK33JGnOD2y4GwH/s400/313047_10150317807897091_543717090_8511889_1128612239_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="266" /></a></span></i><br />
<i>Keep it PG for the kiddos...</i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMpGCaG3zMkGUebk2anS_Iad50EZLInCC3asdOKBMMpPdNcwn8ElW0DYoJWAu5y69lBuaP-oFFNOgBZYCKcM2KMzWdwOQ7rouDpL0itEhW_Kw_2JDXJvVEYLkZGniKPtk8dCxG2Pc6tpx/s1600/321165_10150322574932157_744632156_8132428_1900298367_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwMpGCaG3zMkGUebk2anS_Iad50EZLInCC3asdOKBMMpPdNcwn8ElW0DYoJWAu5y69lBuaP-oFFNOgBZYCKcM2KMzWdwOQ7rouDpL0itEhW_Kw_2JDXJvVEYLkZGniKPtk8dCxG2Pc6tpx/s400/321165_10150322574932157_744632156_8132428_1900298367_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></span></i><br />
<i>Cute kiss from the brother</i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkxxjTwFyixsXm84w9jzGaIQ9nQw68D0KLUiO9WyjDAZok5gjV6udV4Lc_EJURRmjGJXCCD7TGJ2iymKvvFbdLpbISflYOkfFvTC4AgE9q1Kok-IYoYXkFrCB_TN42DdRb04TPSqYW5PC/s1600/299112_10150322574412157_744632156_8132422_150414267_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkxxjTwFyixsXm84w9jzGaIQ9nQw68D0KLUiO9WyjDAZok5gjV6udV4Lc_EJURRmjGJXCCD7TGJ2iymKvvFbdLpbISflYOkfFvTC4AgE9q1Kok-IYoYXkFrCB_TN42DdRb04TPSqYW5PC/s400/299112_10150322574412157_744632156_8132422_150414267_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="400" /></a></span></i><br />
<i>Sweet family photo op</i><br />
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<i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-style: normal;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgex-5WqpMDc3DT48ZAY8ygP-2iABtu4h3mQR48PXKNlmy0dSR6qSGKDGQv07H6vXMK4-LYhN-EVhk2ZaWmNOPElP5AVePw_NeHzO-vUuZlW7wX6G8amGMDHFBgtXa-JfvQCJ2-CIhpu8MS/s1600/297724_10150322655247091_543717090_8540866_1676481342_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgex-5WqpMDc3DT48ZAY8ygP-2iABtu4h3mQR48PXKNlmy0dSR6qSGKDGQv07H6vXMK4-LYhN-EVhk2ZaWmNOPElP5AVePw_NeHzO-vUuZlW7wX6G8amGMDHFBgtXa-JfvQCJ2-CIhpu8MS/s400/297724_10150322655247091_543717090_8540866_1676481342_n.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="266" /></a></span></i><br />
<i>Baby girl, directing traffic after mommy and daddy tied the knot</i><br />
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The wedding was really pretty and really intimate, with just good friends and family there. We all had a great time, and even though it rained (poured, really) half-way through the reception, dances were still danced, toasts were made, and drinks were consumed.<br />
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A few too many drinks for one individual in particular, if you ask me... I'm all for boozing it up - hell, that's half the reason I go to weddings! FREE DRINKS! (just kidding...kinda) But one of my cousins bridesmaids was so tanked BEFORE the ceremony, that the 2 girls on either side of her literally held her wasted ass up during the vows. She stumbled back down the aisle after the bride and groom exited, and proceeded to fall flat on her face before pictures were taken. Needless to say, homegirl wasn't in any of the bridal party shots after the wedding. She was so drunk, it wasn't even funny to watch. I was pretty embarrassed to be in the same color dress as her. Tacky, tacky. <br />
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Moral of the story, folks - a glass of champagne (or 2...lets be honest) before the ceremony is no big thing, but a BOTTLE is a completely different story. Basically - if you're in someone else's wedding, KEEP YOUR SHIT TOGETHER. At least until the bride starts doing keg stands, right? I mean, really...keep it classy.<br />
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Happy Tuesday! <br />
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</i></div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-58552976880789609392011-10-11T16:45:00.000-05:002011-10-11T16:45:20.269-05:00So deep in my daydreams, but it's just a sweet, sweet fantasy baby<div style="text-align: center;">I'm not what you would consider a "girly-girl." I don't like pink (much), I have little to no interest in trying to keep my nail polish chip-free, and while I have branched out and I wear more dresses than I used to, it's mostly because it's hot as fucking HADES in Houston and shit needs to breathe, ifyaknowwhatimean...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">TMI? </div><div style="text-align: center;">Go read something else, then!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I've always been into sports and I love me some football and occasionally, I get really into it and even yell at the TV. However, never have I ever been interested in playing Fantasy Football.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Until this year.</div><div style="text-align: center;">FML.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I didn't understand Fantasy Football - so, what? You make a FAKE (fantasy...dur) team out of players from all the different teams and then track them to get points? I just didn't see the point. I'll just watch teams I like, thanks. I don't give a shit about what that random running back, playing in the game I'm not watching, is doing right now.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Except now I totally do. I got suckered into joining a league with some of our friends and, not gonna lie, I'm pretty into it. I downloaded an app so I can track my player's stats and keep up with my team all weekend. I get really excited when my guys (they are totally myyyy guys now) score points. I can actually speak intelligently about players on other teams besides the ones I normally watch. The flip side of that, though, is that I have become a heartless monster who gets pissed before feeling any compassion towards players on my team that get hurt. Arian Foster has a hamstring issue? GET YOUR ASS OF MY BENCH AND SCORE ME SOME POINTS!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Yikes.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">So far I'm 2-3 in the league...not terrible, but not awesome considering my brother-in-law drafted his whole team based on players who had double E's in their names, and he is 1-4. That win was not against me, though, thank God.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I'm curious - any other ladies out there gettin' down with the FF? If you are, got any super awesome sleeper picks that can up my win quotient?!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">See? I CAN'T TURN IT OFF.</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-252681660447787747.post-45197111985379084322011-10-03T16:24:00.000-05:002011-10-03T16:24:09.227-05:00When you scan the radio I hope this song will guide you home...<div style="text-align: center;">So this past weekend was full of all kinds of fun events, which I of course have no photos of because even with a sweet new camera I am picture-challanged. Saul is just beyond thrilled to have spent that money on me and my fickle habit, I'm sure...</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Friday night was spent with the madre, going out for early drinks and appetizers downtown, followed by "Giselle," at the Wortham theater. I love the ballet. I danced when I was younger and while I was never close to prima-ballerina status, it will always hold a special place in my heart. I really enjoy watching stuff (sports, dance, competitions) that we all know is just crazy hard, but the performers/contestants make it look stupid simple. Ballet is so physically demanding, but they all just make it look as easy as breathing. We had killer seats and had a really good time. We have tickets to 3 more ballets over the next 8 months, and I am pretty stoked. So is Saul, because one of the 3 ballets is the Nutcracker, and since I am going with my mom, he knows he won't get roped into going this year.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Saturday was kicked off with an early morning 5K. Bestie Chandra and I ran for boobies! Each year I run in the Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure, supporting Breast Cancer. It's a great run - pretty course, good cause, and TONS of people. My grandmother and aunt are both breast cancer survivors, so I run in celebration of them, and with the hope that someday, some brilliant person will find a cure for this shitty disease. There were some really funny t-shirts displaying team names (May the Cure be with you, Bad Mammary Jammas, Save a Titty - Run the City!), but my favorite shirt just said "FUCK CANCER." It was super inappropriate, as the run is totally advertised as family-friendly, but i really just wanted to go high-five the dude.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">The race was followed by breakfast at <a href="http://www.onioncreekcafe.com/home.html">Onion Creek</a>. I seriously love that place so much. I had the breakfast flatbread pizza, which was flatbread covered with pesto, mozzarella, roasted tomatoes, bacon and an over-easy egg. YUM. Everything is amazing, but the frozen mimosas are really what seal the deal. I could drink those bad boys all day long.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Sadly, I could not, as I had to book it back up to the north side to get ready for <a href="http://cherylwittmann.blogspot.com/2007/10/one-day-late.html">baby cousin's</a> bridal shower! She's getting married on Saturday (her 22nd bday, incidentally) and I am a bridesmaid. I am the oldest bridesmaid by like, almost 7 years, since pretty much all her friends are still in college. Womp womp. It's kind of refreshing, though, to see her wedding through the eyes of a bunch of girls who have never been in one before, seeing as how I have been in like, 10, not counting MY OWN. They're all so excited (not to say, I'm not...I just approach these things as a veteran, y'know?), and I try not to laugh at the questions they ask me - "Does she need a corsage at her shower? The websites all say she needs a corsage at her shower!!" - and I am doing what I can to guide her Maid of Honor through planning the pre-events without steam-rolling her because I could basically do all this shit with my hands tied behind my back at this point. The wedding will be beautiful and I can't wait to see my little cousin in a wedding dress. I changed the chick's diapers, I've held her hair back, and now I'll stand with her at her wedding. How very circle-of-life-ish ;)</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Family starts getting into town on Wednesday, and we'll have a full house this weekend, so yesterday was spent cleaning. Also, I made banana bread with the suuuuper ripe (read - almost black) bananas in the fruit bowl and I am going to brag for a minute and tell you all that that shit was FUCKING PHENOMENAL. I don't bake. I don't have the patience for it - all the measuring and following the recipe...I much prefer to wing it in the kitchen and adjust based on personal preference. But follow a recipe I did, and for my first ever loaf of bread, it was a winner.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">What was an epic FAIL, however, was leaving the loaf of bread on the counter within reach of my asshole, banana bread-loving dog.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Bella ate the shit out of that bread, y'all.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Glad someone enjoyed it.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Happy Monday! </div><div style="text-align: center;">It's October already? WTF.<br />
</div>Cheryl Annhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01761863838652505928noreply@blogger.com2