<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707</id><updated>2012-01-30T22:14:55.804-06:00</updated><category term='work'/><title type='text'>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><link rel='next' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default?start-index=101&amp;max-results=100'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>178</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6789748971068124175</id><published>2010-04-20T13:03:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2010-04-20T13:04:33.798-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I've moved</title><content type='html'>I know.  I just wasn't into this one anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://thedevilfeedsmecheesefries.blogspot.com/&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6789748971068124175?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6789748971068124175/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6789748971068124175&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6789748971068124175'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6789748971068124175'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2010/04/ive-moved.html' title='I&apos;ve moved'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1239133308289922707</id><published>2009-12-27T20:25:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-27T20:33:53.973-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Christmas Haul</title><content type='html'>So, this year was not so bad.  The snow outside made it really feel like Christmas. My British mother was too afraid to go out in it.  Her years in Houston have made her a weather wuss.  I ended up sliding over to First Chinese BBQ and we dined on duck.  I'm not complaining.  That darn duck is so good, you will suck it off the bones.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the presents came in fast and furious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom gave me:&lt;br /&gt;A bunch of cash&lt;br /&gt;The book Kitty Wigs.  ITS FABULOUS.  I had written her 3 months ago that if she loved me she would get me it for Christmas.  I guess she got the memo.&lt;br /&gt;Tickets to a couple of shows at the Dallas Theater Center&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister gave me:&lt;br /&gt;A painting of my kitty cat Penny she did from a photo.  Its so sweet.  Its my favorite picture of Penny (aka Grand Master P).  I need to get it framed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dad gave me:&lt;br /&gt;A gift card to jcrew.  Wasn't expecting that.  Even on sale, I only got a dress and a shirt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend Cherry gave me:&lt;br /&gt;A kitten calendar (does anyone else see a theme here?)&lt;br /&gt;A great pair of earrings&lt;br /&gt;A wonderful smelly candle&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Not bad.  I'll take it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I think this was what I needed.  One more week and the year is done.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1239133308289922707?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1239133308289922707/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1239133308289922707&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1239133308289922707'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1239133308289922707'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/12/christmas-haul.html' title='Christmas Haul'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2331474280516997714</id><published>2009-12-22T17:59:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-22T18:09:09.517-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Roller coaster ride</title><content type='html'>I was having lunch with a friend today, and they reminded me of something I had told them this summer.  I had said how much I loved my life.  I went on about how great it was.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How can six months make such a difference?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess he brought it up because I just kept saying how I wanted this year to be over and how bad it was.  The last two months have just been hard.  And lately I've just been thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this the life I want.  Do I want to be married to my job?  Do I want kids?  Ok, I know the answer to that one, but I don't appear in anyway to be trying to get there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get all moody and down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then Violet comes up and crawls into my lap for a cuddle.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really, this year hasn't been so bad.  I need to get over the bad stuff and move on.  Good things are about.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2331474280516997714?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2331474280516997714/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2331474280516997714&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2331474280516997714'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2331474280516997714'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/12/roller-coaster-ride.html' title='Roller coaster ride'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-7648673680797932167</id><published>2009-12-11T09:07:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-11T09:15:43.200-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Getting Into the Holidays</title><content type='html'>Even though I don't have a single decoration up in my house nor the slightest thought of putting them up anytime in the near future, the rest of the world has gone whole hog into the holiday spirit.  This includes my office.  We had our holiday happy hour last night, and today my little group has our holiday luncheon.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was good and went out Wednesday night to buy my Dirty Santa gift.  I don't want to be banished for bad gift giving.  So, I did what everyone else does:  go to Goody Goody or Siegels and buy $20 worth of liquor.  I am not quite sure what that says about my job that all of us give and get liquor at the holidays.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My first year, I got a bottle of red wine. I only noticed after the fact that a note was written on it "To Bill, happy holidays xxxx".  Regifting is not very holidayish of people.  I felt bad for the bottle of wine and drank it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next year I got a bottle of Asti.  I'm just not even gonna comment on that one.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next year I got a picture frame.  Someone did not get the "only bring liquor" memo.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I've had two off years. I think if the universe is fair, I should be unwrapping a nice bottle of Gray Goose at about noon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-7648673680797932167?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/7648673680797932167/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=7648673680797932167&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7648673680797932167'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7648673680797932167'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/12/getting-into-holidays.html' title='Getting Into the Holidays'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1643622188543166983</id><published>2009-12-06T18:06:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-12-06T18:32:41.975-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My stupid mouth</title><content type='html'>Well, how a week changes everything.  I have started this blog about 4 times, and I had to close out after 2 or 3 sentences.  It's my head.  I've been angry, and what I've written could be taken the wrong way.  Even though this is my blog, I have to think of other people.  So, I actually started a journal, and I'm writing it down on paper with a pen.  So old school and retro.  But I can say what I want and its mine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I lost a good friend this week.  My head has finally wrapped around it. I was discussing it this afternoon, and I realized, that I was in a good place.  I think the anger is gone.  I realize that it might come back, but overall spending the weekend taking care of myself has helped.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In a nutshell, I lost Heather.  She was a good girl. I appreciated her as I felt she appreciated me.  I would tell her some of the idiot things I have done, and she wouldn't judge.  And I knew, if anyone ever hurt me, she would be one of the first ones to kick their ass.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was trying to remember the last conversation I had with her.  Was it about our lives and our futures?  No.  Was it about her son?  No.  Was it about my job?  No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was about oral sex.  Seriously, I think one of the last things I ever said to her was "He was sleeping with about 5-10 women and living a certain lifestyle, and I didn't want that lifestyle in my mouth."  Seriously, besides saying goodbye and forcing a cupcake on her, that was the last real thing I said.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I gave her a laugh.  It wasn't anything deep, but in my very unclassy way, I made her smile.  I'm good with that.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1643622188543166983?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1643622188543166983/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1643622188543166983&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1643622188543166983'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1643622188543166983'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/12/my-stupid-mouth.html' title='My stupid mouth'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5759674903013965400</id><published>2009-11-29T21:03:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-29T21:33:42.596-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Aha, I'm not crazy</title><content type='html'>On the drive back yesterday, I listened to my backlog of podcasts.  I finally caught up with Radiolab.  The topic was parasites.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, couldn't stop it.  Fascinating.  Attaching the link to the part that got me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;http://www.wnyc.org/shows/radiolab/episodes/2009/09/25/segments/133981&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a discussion on Toxoplasma Gondii.  I learnt in parasitology class in college about how pregnant women were not supposed to clean the cat box.  That is because they could be infected by this parasite that is found in cat poop.  It leads to miscarriages etc.  Not so great stuff.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They go into how exacty toxo works.  We humans are the wrong host for it.  We are not part of its life cycle. It wants to actually be in rats/rodents.  Something that a cat eats.  The toxo just wants to get back into the cat and multiply.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When it is in the rat, it works its way into the rats brain and rewires the rat.  It makes it so that the rat begins to love the smell of cat.  The rat falls in love with the cat, making it so that the rat does not run away when the cat is nearby.  Next thing you know, the rat becomes lunch and the toxo gets back into the cat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soooo, that has made people start to think.  Has toxo rewired humans?  Is there a reason that we love cats so much?  Are crazy cat ladies really crazy or just infected?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;For me, I'm not completely sure.  I'm a third generation cat lover.  At Thanksgiving, we discussed how everyone in the family has at least one cat.  Are we all infected or is it just genetic?  Either way, I'm all good with it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5759674903013965400?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5759674903013965400/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5759674903013965400&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5759674903013965400'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5759674903013965400'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/11/aha-im-not-crazy.html' title='Aha, I&apos;m not crazy'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-8446660868258369031</id><published>2009-11-27T09:28:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-27T09:56:00.456-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Houston</title><content type='html'>My dad is a geophysicist.  That is a very very fancy and over-educated way to say my dad looks for oil.  (Black gold, Texas crude).  If you are an oilman, where is the logical place for you to live and raise a family.  Houston.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Looking back, my childhood in Houston was not so bad, but all I ever wanted to do was get out of there.  It was hot, and muggy, and had these huge churches that were super conservative and scary.  The list went on and on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, whenever I drive back into town, I get happy. I remember things.  Being in high school and hanging out on Richmond and Montrose.  Red Square on a Saturday night and dancing until 2.  The House of Guys (Pies) on Kirby, getting coffee and people watching.  Numbers, Butera's, the Alabama Bookstop, Brasil, The Menil, Step Back Sams, the Dream Merchant.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things have come and gone.  I had dinner at the old site of the Dream Merchant at Mark's. It used to be the clothing store that was in an old church.  I remember coming home in high school and telling my mom about that store. They sold Docs on what used to be the alter area.  Now it's a fancy restaurant.  Super fancy.  The alter is now the bar. My mom seemed to have issues with them selling shoes on it, but liquor, not so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really, not a bad town.  Maybe I'm waxing poetically because it's November and the weather is beautiful.  Lets see how much I like this place when I visit in July.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-8446660868258369031?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/8446660868258369031/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=8446660868258369031&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8446660868258369031'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8446660868258369031'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/11/houston.html' title='Houston'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6115038710869864281</id><published>2009-11-26T10:36:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-11-27T09:28:06.331-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving</title><content type='html'>I just looked, and it has been too long.  I stopped blogging for a bit. It became a chore.  When something you love becomes a chore, I find it best to take a step back and do other things until that something becomes something you want to do again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I'm back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The past couple of months have kind of been a mess.  I think my mind has been in about 50 places.  I ended up dealing with things by doing my version of hiding.  I take on too much.  Every day of the week I had something.  If it wasn't running 6 miles, it was meeting up with friends for 3 hours etc.  This finally all caught up with me in November.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister got sick again.  Her breast cancer came back.  The only reason I knew was she texted me about a picture she wanted, and at the bottom she put she was getting her implants redone the next week.  I thought to myself "why is she getting them redone??"  So, of course I called her.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She acted very non-chalant and explained that during her annual visit with the oncologist, after a series of tests, they just decided to give her a second mastectomy.  Also, since its been a couple of years, and she is going to need a new implant, they were going to give her a new one and replace the old.  Oh, and take out a bunch of lymph nodes while they were at it.  Nothing big.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept it all in and talked along with her like it was nothing big.  I got off the phone, went to bed, went to work the next day, and proceeded to have a breakdown.  Thank god we have the lactation room. At least I had a place to hide out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, she finally had the surgery, and of course I have another breakdown outside of Houston's when I hear she isn't doing well.  I'm way too emotional for my own good.  Unfortunately, Houston's doesn't have a lactation room.  They have a 2 hour wait.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, time moves on and Thanksgiving is coming.  No one seems to have any plans.  I was thinking I would just orphan it in Dallas.  When you say something like that, the offers to take you in come out of the woodwork.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Originally, I had agreed to go with Julie to her families Thanksgiving in Emory.  Then, my sister calls and said it was decided that everyone was going to meet in Houston.  She and her husband were driving down from Little Rock, and Alex was flying in from Sweden.  If he could fly in from Sweden, I could drive 4 hours home. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My poor mom had a week to figure out how to cook for 9 people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And here I sit.  4 hours later and a Bucees t-shirt.  I'm home.  Let the dysfunctional fun begin.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6115038710869864281?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6115038710869864281/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6115038710869864281&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6115038710869864281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6115038710869864281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/11/thanksgiving.html' title='Thanksgiving'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2809509206550119608</id><published>2009-09-02T11:54:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-09-02T12:04:36.971-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Baby Birds</title><content type='html'>I was having a conversation the other week about one of my hobbies.  I take in baby birds.  They are those people who I feel sorry  for that I bring into my circle.  The problem is they are baby birds.  You never know what they are actually going to grow into.  You have to watch out, or they might become turkey buzzards.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what it is.  I guess I drive people crazy.  My dad says I am too judgemental.  I really don't think so.  Have you seen some of the men I've dated?  I'm overall very accepting of others and their lifestyle.  As long as your not hurting anyone, I'm just fine with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the problem with the baby birds.  They usually don't think about anyone else.  They are trying to grow themselves.  They are trying to spread their wings.  If you get in the way, they are going to take you out.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Unfortunately, I speak up and say what I think.  That results in four page missives about how much I stink as a human being.  After about the 3rd one, you kind of get used to it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, do I stop, no.  Everyone deserves a chance.  And what is another psycho crazy letter anyway?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2809509206550119608?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2809509206550119608/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2809509206550119608&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2809509206550119608'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2809509206550119608'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/09/baby-birds.html' title='Baby Birds'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5880003015271391296</id><published>2009-08-26T11:06:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-26T11:20:04.350-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hacking</title><content type='html'>Early this morning, I get a notice from Facebook that my friend Andy from Michigan had accepted my friend request.  I was so excited. I trully loved Andy.  He was married to my old roommate Erica.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, when I get on Facebook, imagine how happy I am when he connects to me via chat and wants to talk.  I ask him how he is, and he says he isn't doing so good.  He then explains he was robbed at gunpoint in London.  I was aghast.  I couldn't believe it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He then says they took his phone and his credit card, but left his passport.  His flight home is in a couple of hours, but he is having issues with the hotel. He can't get the bill paid.  He wanted me to send him some money.  He said he would refund it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Immediately, my hackles came up.  I haven't spoken to Andy in years, and he is contacting me over Facebook and wants me to send him money???  So, I go into detective mode.  I start asking him how he is using a computer.  He says he is at the library.  I ask if his company has travel people he can speak to.  I ask if he has called his family.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He responds that he has heard from some of his family, but they could only get enough money to pay for his return ticket.  I'm again thinking, this is just wrong.  Andy is very professional.  Why would he buy a one way ticket to London?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Finally, I ask him about his mom.  I know his mother would do anything for him and spend anything.  I say why isn't she helping.  He says she is waiting for a check to clear, and she is flat broke.  Ok, lie lie lie.  His mom is loaded.  She lives in Lee Iacoca's house, the one he lived in when he turned around Chrysler.  And she is waiting for a check to clear??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That is when I told him he was not Andy and to please leave me alone.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterwards, he dropped he as a friend on Facebook and dissappeared.  I sent an email to Andy and his wife while I was having this conversation just to double check, but I hadn't heard back.  I started having doubts.  What if Andy's mom had lost everything due to the autos? Etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Andy wrote me back about ten minutes later and announced he was working from his couch in Okemos, Michigan and was doing A OK.  He thanked me for the hack update.  He said he is never on Facebook and someone, somehow got in, and changed the email address.  So, even he can't get in and fix it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, how awful are some people??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5880003015271391296?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5880003015271391296/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5880003015271391296&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5880003015271391296'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5880003015271391296'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/08/hacking.html' title='Hacking'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-3021456385175534107</id><published>2009-08-20T13:54:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-20T14:20:32.832-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A new predicament</title><content type='html'>We moved offices a couple of months ago. Everything is about the same as at the old office except the water dispensers and the bathrooms.  Not to focus on potties yet again, but the new bathrooms have messed with my head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The toilets flush automatically.  I know this shouldn't be too big a deal, but I have become a slave to these contraptions.  They flush incredibly quickly.  You have to be super fast to get everything in.  So now, when I got, where-ever I am, I am speedy gonzalez.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT, when it comes to flushing, I've become lazy.  I'm not used to doing it anymore.  I will stand up and wonder why nothing is going on back there.  Its very confusing.  I guess I've become a bit like pavlovs dog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-3021456385175534107?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/3021456385175534107/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=3021456385175534107&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3021456385175534107'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3021456385175534107'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/08/new-predicament.html' title='A new predicament'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-8164106372317692601</id><published>2009-08-14T11:15:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-14T11:25:17.174-05:00</updated><title type='text'>They call me shameless</title><content type='html'>I have come to discover something about myself.  When I run for long periods of time, my body just kind of shuts down.  Its putting all its energy into the running.  So, all the other systems just seem to go haywire.  The main one I'm having issues with is my, hmmm how do I put this, my going to the bathroom system.  For some reason, within 20 minutes of starting to run, I have to go.  ITS AWFUL!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am my own worst enemy too.  I want to stay hydrated.  So, I keep drinking water.  I'm feeding the system.  I am supposed to remember not to drink an hour before I go out.  I should put sticky notes all over the house.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This Wednesday was awful.  We are over at White Rock by the bathhouse doing hills.  After the first warm up mile and the 2nd hill, I have the feeling.  I hold it hold it hold it.  I get through the fourth hill and start running the cool down mile, and I just can't take it any longer.  We are passing the boat dock, and I see a suv parked there by the water.  A perfect cover.  I tell the girls I have to go, and I will meet them by the water fountain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, quick as can be, I run over to the side of the truck, squat and get er done.  No one sees me.  I am thinking I'm all good.  I pull my stuff up, get all organized, and start jogging off.  That is when I pass the drivers side of the truck to see, there was someone in it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Classy.  Yep, I'm classy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-8164106372317692601?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/8164106372317692601/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=8164106372317692601&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8164106372317692601'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8164106372317692601'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/08/they-call-me-shameless.html' title='They call me shameless'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5147120741103446095</id><published>2009-08-10T10:49:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-10T10:56:04.781-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Hermit</title><content type='html'>This weekend, I was one.  Seriously.  I feel like I had been out every night the week before.  Actually, I was out every night the week before.  Friday, I was out a bit too late.  Ug.  That was just ugly.  BUT, the wine was good and so was the company.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know how I did it when I was 24.  How did I drink until 2 am and then show up at work at 8 am, half asleep but still ready to perform?  Saturday, I was a zombie.  I kept pumping water into myself and eating Lara Bars.  I took a 5 hour nap.  And THEN I was human again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, being bad, I cancelled plans and hermitted up.  I curled up on the couch with a book I'm determined to finish about an African childhood.  Its hard reading.  I mean she just goes off about how hard it was to live in Rhodesia as a white woman during the war of independence.  Maybe I'm the crazy one, but I just keep thinking "who would choose to livin Rhodesia during a war???"  But I kept reading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sunday, I was good as gold, woke up early, and went to run the Katy Trail.  My friend who met me wasn't really into running though.  So we didn't get much done.  Mostly talked.  I was all good with that too.  And then I caught up with life.  I cleaned a bit.  I actually bought food.  I paid bills.  And then I took another looonnng nap.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Really I have no complaints.  I need to do this more often.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5147120741103446095?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5147120741103446095/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5147120741103446095&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5147120741103446095'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5147120741103446095'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/08/hermit.html' title='Hermit'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2782449253151018052</id><published>2009-08-06T16:47:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-06T16:51:18.857-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A nice balance</title><content type='html'>I think I've finally struck it.  The running took over my life for a while.  I was seriously scheduling my life around the amoutn of mileage I had to run.  But over the last couple of weeks, I think I've figured it out.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My life has seriously changed for the better though.  I'm waking up early.  Some people view that as a con, but for me its great.  I get more done before 9 on a Saturday morning then I used to do on a whole Saturday.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My body is changing.  I received two compliments about my butt in the last week.  Just in case you didn't know, I've never had a bottom.  They don't grow in my family.  To actually have someone compliment me on mine and not in a pick you up kind of way made me feel fantastic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just feel good overall.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Don't get me wrong.  I still have my usual dysfunctions, but they don't appear to affect me as much as usual.  I'm ok all around.  Life is too short to wallow.  Seriously, I think a lot goes through your head when your running.  Some very zen moments that just calm you down.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm liking the new me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2782449253151018052?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2782449253151018052/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2782449253151018052&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2782449253151018052'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2782449253151018052'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/08/nice-balance.html' title='A nice balance'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6601186355589266796</id><published>2009-08-05T14:34:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-05T14:46:35.609-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ohhhh Nooooo</title><content type='html'>http://eatsblog.dallasnews.com/archives/2009/08/van-roberts-to-close-lola.html&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just went two weeks ago with my sister and one of my best friends.  This is just tearing me apart.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I remember the first time I went to Lola.  My mom was in town, we did dinner with four of my friends.  Dave, an old wine friend who moved to Chicago, said he was going to order and pay for all the wine.  And we let him.  It was one of the best meals ever.  Dave ordered about 4 bottles of white burgandy.  He was in a mood.  The conversation was great.  Honestly, just a lovely night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know why this is upsetting me.  I guess its because Dallas is losing a nice little restaurant that isn't hot or hip.  It just makes good food.  The wine list is amazing.  The prices are right.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm just a little sad something special is going away.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6601186355589266796?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6601186355589266796/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6601186355589266796&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6601186355589266796'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6601186355589266796'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/08/ohhhh-nooooo.html' title='Ohhhh Nooooo'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5884821140941982299</id><published>2009-08-03T15:28:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-08-03T15:34:46.348-05:00</updated><title type='text'>How do they do that rock n roll lifestyle?</title><content type='html'>I have come to discover that my social life is inversely proportional to the amount of miles I run every week.  I run 2 miles, I go out 5 nights that week.  I run 6  miles, I go out 1 night that week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week I had a sports injury.  No running.  I was out and about constantly.  Friday and Saturday, I was out until after 2 am.  And, it absolutely almost killed me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How do people do it??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to admit both Friday and Saturday, I was out of bed by 8 am.  I'm guessing most of the rockstarish people were not.  By Sunday, my body just shut down.  It just didn't want to leave the house.  It just wanted to sit on the couch and complain.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I did force it to leave the house and go running for a couple of miles.  It wasn't happy, but it did it.  I actually think it was happy because it figured out that once the running started, the social life would calm down again.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I have grown to like my early morning, not drink so much, and be health routine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who am I??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5884821140941982299?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5884821140941982299/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5884821140941982299&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5884821140941982299'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5884821140941982299'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/08/how-do-they-do-that-rock-n-roll.html' title='How do they do that rock n roll lifestyle?'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-7222176087432178849</id><published>2009-07-31T14:19:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-31T17:12:42.296-05:00</updated><title type='text'>An open letter to Chef Kent</title><content type='html'>Dear Mr. Rathburn&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess I should start with a little history. Seven years ago I moved to Dallas. I knew exactly two people in town, and neither of them very well. One of them, a friend of a friend Dave, and I had one big thing in common, food. Seeing as I had just moved down here from the food wasteland known as Detroit, he offered to take me out for a very Dallas night. I told my boss about this, and she handed me a copy of D Magazine and told me to find something fun. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;When Dave called to see where I wanted to go, I flipped through the magazine to the food section and jokingly said "lets do this alphabetically". He was up for it. The first restaurant listed was Abacus. He made a reservation and we came the next weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That meal was one of the most amazing of my life. You have to understand. I spent five years of my life living off of coney island food and Labatts. My system was about to shut down. Abacus was a revelation. On a whim, I ordered the lobster shooters and the entire time I was eating them, I didn't speak a word. You have to understand. I'm a talker. The food was so good, it shut me up. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, over the next couple of years, Dave and I went to Abacus with friends, parents, coworkers etc. But Dallas being Dallas, the last couple of years, so many good places have opened up, that I haven't really frequented Abacus lately. I have been to Jaspers, but for some reason not Abacus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This week, friends wanted to get together for drinks, and I saw your email about happenings at different Rathburn restaurants, and I saw that Abacus was having specials. One friend is on a significant budget, and I thought this would be a cheaper way to have a nice meal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We met in the bar last night and ordered a couple of glasses of wine, which we knew were discounted, and a couple of sushi rolls. Unfortunately, I had read your site wrong. I had read it that the sushi was discounted along with the drinks from 5-7 and after 9. I swear that was how it looked when I saw the newsletter.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, imagine my shock when we received the bill and the sushi was full price. The waitress explained I had read wrong.  Sushi was only discounted after 9.  I felt so awful. It was way too much for my friend to pay. Between her being in shock and me feeling awful, my third friend swiped up the bill and paid it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Trully, I just felt awfull.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wanted to let you know that there are some of us non-english majors out there that might need some things spelled out more clearly for us. Unfortunately, the stimulus package almost gave a good friend a heart attack.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Thank you,&lt;br /&gt;---------------------------------------------------------------&lt;br /&gt;UPDATE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Abacus just called.  They had messed up in the newsletter.  They had listed sushi was half price before seven.  The waitress was supposed to honor this.  They are giving us a full refund and paying for us to come back and have sushi and drinks on them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YAY!!!!!!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-7222176087432178849?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/7222176087432178849/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=7222176087432178849&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7222176087432178849'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7222176087432178849'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/open-letter-to-chef-kent.html' title='An open letter to Chef Kent'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1682795852019247128</id><published>2009-07-30T13:01:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-30T13:09:58.296-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My first sports injury</title><content type='html'>I just realized this morning.  I have my first one.  I never really did any sports before.  Therefore, I've never had one.  I was always artsy.  You don't hear of too many art injuries.  Especially if you were in choir.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, about a week ago, while I was running at the gym, my left calf just started hurting after 2.5 miles.  I finished my three and just kind of walked it off.  The next day it seemed to get a bit better.  So, I decided it wasn't anything much.  I went to my Wednesday night run and it was ok.  I kept working out, and on my Saturday 5 miles, it started hurting near mile 3, but it wasn't awful.  So, I kept on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tuesday morning, I was doing three around the neighborhood, and my calf started aching again after 2.5 miles.  Then just at about 3 miles, it tweaked up.  I don't know how else to put it.  It just started really hurting.  I had to stop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I talked to a number of people, and they all agreed that I needed to stop running.  I had probably strained something, and by ignoring it, I was just making it worse.  I was told to take ibuprofin ever couple of hours for 3-4 days and to ice it at night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have been dilligent.  I have a bottle of Advil by my side at all times, and at night, I have been laying on the couch with my leg atop a bag of frozen, shelled edemame.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I felt guilty this morning, so I woke up early and went over to the gym (in the horrid thunderstorm).  I rode a bike for an hour.  I just thought I needed to do some cardio.  Unfortunately, someone took over the TV control and put on CNBC and their hour long Republican discussion on socialized medicine.  I see both sides.  So, when one completely biased uneducated side is presented, I get fired up.  That did make me start to bike a bit faster.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I'm supposed to run 6 on Saturday morning.  My calf is still pretty tight.  I'm going to keep it on a wait and see basis.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1682795852019247128?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1682795852019247128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1682795852019247128&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1682795852019247128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1682795852019247128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/my-first-sports-injury.html' title='My first sports injury'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6370529466962614266</id><published>2009-07-29T11:16:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-29T11:31:17.341-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Lyrics</title><content type='html'>As I stated yesterday, my memory is not good, BUT for some reason I can remember song lyrics.  I think its because they are just in the background of my life and seep into my brain.  For example, this is currently going through my head:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I like big butts, and I can not lie.  You other brothers can deny.  That when a girl walks in with an itty bitty waist and a round thing in your face, you get sprung."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Earlier this morning, I was putting on my makeup and singing:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"If you want my lovin.  If you really dooo.  Don't be afraid baby, just ask. You know I'm gonna give it to yoooouuu."  (When I'm in my bathroom, I think I sing Aretha really well)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And there was an entire day when I could not get the Spandeau Ballet song catalog out of my head.  All one of it ("I know this much is true").&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was at the gym the other week and just walking around between the weights, and I found myself seriously singing along to the following:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"I ain't as good as I once was, but I'm good once, as I ever was"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Toby Keith,  SERIOUSLY, I'm singing Toby Keith.  I think stuff just gets into my head and stays there forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6370529466962614266?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6370529466962614266/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6370529466962614266&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6370529466962614266'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6370529466962614266'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/lyrics.html' title='Lyrics'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2579378097819863477</id><published>2009-07-28T15:00:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-28T15:11:28.990-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Nicknames</title><content type='html'>I have an attrocious memory.  In order to remember people's names, I have to create games.  Many people receive a nickname.  When I first joined bookclub, all those years ago, I met 6 girls at once.  There was no way I would remember everyone.  So, I made up internal nicknames.  Mostly there were about hair color.  Elizabeth was the redhead and Shandi had the streaks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, as I seem to date an awful lot, the men have acquired nicknames.  I know its awful, but it the only way I can keep them apart over time.  Some are very simplistic.  The Fireman was referred to as the Fireman because he was a Fireman.  Some were kind of funny.  Jumbo jet was referred to as that because he had more baggage then one (and I say that with love).  There were also nicknames that were not entirely nicknames like Big Giant Red Flag and Loser.  You can guess why they got those.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny enough, I actually talk to all those guys still, but I do use their proper names when talking to them.  I don't think Loser would like to know his nickname.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm wondering what internal nicknames people have for me??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2579378097819863477?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2579378097819863477/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2579378097819863477&amp;isPopup=true' title='45 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2579378097819863477'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2579378097819863477'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/nicknames.html' title='Nicknames'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>45</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6011537920601901075</id><published>2009-07-27T16:50:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-27T16:57:23.999-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Google me</title><content type='html'>Have you ever done it?  Its fascinating.  Mine doesn't really produce a bunch of stuff.  You see a book list I created on Amazon, some of my friends on Facebook, an article I helpe publish in college on African American women physicians, and my linked in resume.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, other people.  Other people need to seriously Google themselves because there is stuff out there that should not be associated with them.  Seriously, I google most of the guys I date.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Googling proved to be the end of one relationship for me.  When the guy's search came up, there were the usual things.  His resume, his work website etc.  And then, there was this link that said "photographs".  Of course I clicked.  The next thing I know I am transported to a very weird place.  Lets just say there was an overabundance of liquid latex, dog collars, gas masks, and girls.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course I was performing this search at work.  I was hitting the back botton so hard and fast smoke was almost coming out of the screen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The next time I talked to him, he said I seemed distant.  Uh huh.  Yeah.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously people, google yourself and clean some stuff up.  You don't need goth party pics of you out there.  No one does.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6011537920601901075?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6011537920601901075/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6011537920601901075&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6011537920601901075'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6011537920601901075'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/google-me.html' title='Google me'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-472407939319524020</id><published>2009-07-25T08:54:00.005-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-25T09:15:01.710-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The shopping triathalon</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SmsR212s_iI/AAAAAAAAADY/1ReC4AHCVVs/s1600-h/kitties+006.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SmsR212s_iI/AAAAAAAAADY/1ReC4AHCVVs/s320/kitties+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5362399415181835810" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister is in town.  What does that mean?  Shopping.  Seriously, she has the entire weekend planned out.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shani moved to Little Rock about 4 years ago.  Its actually a very sweet city.  It's not what we are used to.  She loves it except that the only place to shop is Dillards.  I would be fine with that, but my sister is addicted to Neiman's.  It's her Mecca.  Coming to Dallas is her pilgrimage, and I'm her bag carrier.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started yesterday with a warm up.  I took a half day off of work and went and picked her up.  First stop, Sam Moon. We went on Friday afternoon in order to not have to deal with the Saturday rush.  Even on a Friday the place was pretty bad.  Its just so overwhelming. I think her senses were on overload. She only bought a necklace.  I, on the other hand, now have a great collection of chandelier earrings.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, we travelled up into Plano to Charming Charlies. It was the first time at that store for me.  IT'S FABULOUS.  It like an extremely organized Sam Moon with clothing.  I wouldn't wear half the clothing, but it was nice to see.  Everything was organized by color.  Shani went hog wild here.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We ended up staying in Plano and raiding a couple of other stores near by.  I came home with a slight hole in my budget.  I'm just going to have to stay in and cook more next month.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Here is the deal, that was only Friday and we only really went to bargain stores.  Today we head over to Northpark.  I purposfully have set myself only one goal for the day.  I just need to find a dress that goes with a gold pair of stilletos I bought a couple of months ago that I never wear.  I took pictures to keep it in my mind.  Of course the cats had to come and get in the photo shoot.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-472407939319524020?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/472407939319524020/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=472407939319524020&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/472407939319524020'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/472407939319524020'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/shopping-triathalon.html' title='The shopping triathalon'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SmsR212s_iI/AAAAAAAAADY/1ReC4AHCVVs/s72-c/kitties+006.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1731157186692420128</id><published>2009-07-23T09:55:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-23T10:01:48.427-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pacesetter</title><content type='html'>I show up for my new running group last night with no expectations.  My friend Chris is very big into the DRC, and he convinced me to give them a shot.  Because I was a bit scared, I wore my fancy schmancy running watch.  We will just refer to it as the Garmin.  It pretty much does everything but feed you breakfast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, the pacesetter for my group wasn't there that day.  I found out later she had injured herself playing kickball.  Oh the perils of reliving our youth.  They looked at our group of 10 people and asked if anyone had a Garmin.  I raise my hand.  The next thing you know, I'm being asked to set the pace for our group.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Your thinking, that's easy.  Yes, that is easy, but have you met me?  I spent three miles stressed out.  Every other second I was looking down at the watch to make sure we weren't too above or below the mark.  And, this is where I point out, I wasn't sure at all where we were going.  I almost tripped 3 times.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girls in my group kept asking me how long I've been running and how many marathons I've done.  I loved responding, "I've been running since January, and I've never actually gone more then 9 miles.  I just got the watch because I'm into gadgets."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Next Wednesday I'm bringing the watch, but I'm going to pass it off to someone else if I have to.  I prefer to gossip and laugh while I run.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1731157186692420128?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1731157186692420128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1731157186692420128&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1731157186692420128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1731157186692420128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/pacesetter.html' title='Pacesetter'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1118185617598986806</id><published>2009-07-22T09:31:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-22T09:59:30.198-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Jacque</title><content type='html'>The other month, I was scanning through Dallasfood.org forums, and someone wrote a good review of Jacque Pepin's biography.  Being who I am, I put it on my list at Amazon and purchased it within a week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, last week, I was packing for my trip to San Diego for work and looked at the book I was reading on my coffee table.  "Hot, Flat, and Crowded" is so far proving to be a good read, but I really didn't want to be stuck on a plane for 3 hours there and back reading about the world's dependence on oil.  While I agree, it just gets to be a bit old fast.  I picked up Jacque and ran out the door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, I should have known there would be recipes in there before the plane took off.  I was stuck for three hours with no food and one cup of water reading how to make roast chicken and gnocchi parisianne.  I was dying.  I decided right then and there, I was going to cook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My sister is coming to visit this weekend, and I told her I was going to cook.  She was a bit shocked.  Neidell women don't really cook.  My mom prepared dinner for us when we grew up, but it wasn't really cooking.  It was more like cafeteria style get the food out for the masses kind of thing.  So, for me to say that I was actually going to cook is a big deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its on for Friday night.  I'm thinking roast chicken with potatoes and asparagus.  I'm already salivating thinking about it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1118185617598986806?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1118185617598986806/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1118185617598986806&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1118185617598986806'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1118185617598986806'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/jacque.html' title='Jacque'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1401568426416415326</id><published>2009-07-21T22:48:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-21T23:04:03.994-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The 15k</title><content type='html'>Back in January, I signed up for a beginners running class at Runon.  It was a just for fun kind of thing.  They made us write down goals.  Mine were "to like running and to stop eating crappy food."  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;That first real class after the timed mile, I came to discover I had somehow placed into a real running class.  They were not going to let us walk at all.  I was shocked and upset, but I had signed up for this.  It was my own fault.  So, I went with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Six and a half months later, I somehow was able to run 9.3 miles around white rock lake, with the help of some good new friends, a couple of water stops, and a package of Gu.  I was tired, smelled awful, and feeling like a million bucks.  Seriously, I couldn't believe I did it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Some things I discovered last Saturday:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1)  You can really do anything for a mile.  No matter what your body is saying.  Its only a mile.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2)  Friends point out the port-o-potties.  True friends form a human wall around you when you can't make it to the port-o-potty.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3)  Dallas does have hills.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4)  Somehow, after almost crying at mile 6 because you are so beat, you are still able to sprint the last 3/10s of a mile to the end.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5)  Orange burst Gu is edible.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6)  The best way to celebrate a run is with champagne and a pedicure.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1401568426416415326?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1401568426416415326/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1401568426416415326&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1401568426416415326'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1401568426416415326'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/15k.html' title='The 15k'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-4112249967556796975</id><published>2009-07-20T14:32:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-20T14:39:18.796-05:00</updated><title type='text'>More things people should now about me</title><content type='html'>Again, I have been awful with the blog.  I swear, its the running and the traveling for work.  That's my excuse.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anway, something that my good friends know is that I like challenges.  I have admitted before that I'm kind of competitive.  I know I'm actually a lot competitive, but lets leave it at kind of competitive to make me feel better.  Part of that whole thing is the challenge I'm trying to win/figure out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This applies to all things in my life: work, friends, men I date etc.  Many of my friends would have two cents to comment on the men.  Let me say, I have had my fair share of "challenges".  That's what I'm calling them.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I took some weeks off from dating this summer.  I was just tired.  Most of the winter and spring, I was dating like a mad women.  It was just hard to fit everything in, and I wasn't finding anything substantial.  The past couple of weeks I've just been able to relax and look back over things, and I've come to discover that half of my dating life is dating "challenges".  Or, my attempt to desperately not date someone who is and getting bored and upset.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I think I need to find a middle ground.  No more weirdos who intrigue me.  If I meet a guy and he says he is into fire spitting, I'm just going to walk away, even though I would love to see him do it.  Also, no more sweet boys who I think are the people I'm supposed to date.  They just get really into me, and I end up hurting their feelings, and then I feel awful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just need to meet someone average.  Average sounds really good to me right now.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-4112249967556796975?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/4112249967556796975/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=4112249967556796975&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4112249967556796975'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4112249967556796975'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/more-things-people-should-now-about-me.html' title='More things people should now about me'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2857282464984601627</id><published>2009-07-07T08:42:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-07T08:55:50.566-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Kinda Competitive</title><content type='html'>I don't know if I have brought this up before, but I'm a bit competitive.  Others disagree and say I'm extremely competitive, but I disagree.  I'm not Lance Armstrong or anything.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I usually keep it hidden though and then it pops out at unexpected times and slightly shocks people.  For example, in college, we used to play two person spades.  I don't even remember exactly how to play it, but my suitemate Joanne and I used to be obsessed.  It got to the point that when she would win a hand, I would start cussing like a sailor.  I remember her looking at me one time like I had just grown horns.  Not very classy of me.  And, it is only spades.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I moved to Dallas (almost 7 years ago) and it was a friends birthday.  We decide to throw her a surprise bowling birthday party.  This is the first time any of these people have ever bowled with me.  Boy, were they in for a surprise.  I was a task master.  When it was their turn to bowl, I would get upset if they weren't around and go searching for them.  I did all this and yet I only scored a 70.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yes I'm competitive but it doesn't mean that I'm actually good at the sport.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I think Sunday, I just got competitive with myself over the running.  Why?  Its supposed to be fun and good for me.  I'm letting it go.  No point.  I will just do what I do and have fun with it and stop when its not fun anymore.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2857282464984601627?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2857282464984601627/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2857282464984601627&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2857282464984601627'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2857282464984601627'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/kinda-competitive.html' title='Kinda Competitive'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5828545526312401964</id><published>2009-07-05T20:29:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-07-05T20:37:05.705-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Beating myself up</title><content type='html'>I've been so good about running, but it seems when I have business trips, vacations or a cold, I just drop it.  I want to focus on getting my life done.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I didn't really run for two weeks.  I know.  Bad me, but I gotta have a life.  This Sunday, was the 9 mile run.  Our last long one.  I was not looking forward to it.  The longest I had run before this was 6.  I think I completely stressed myself out, and I couldn't get to sleep Saturday night.  I think I maybe got 3 hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The run this morning starts out ok.  I'm doing fine, but by mile 4 I'm about to fall apart.  Seriously. I get to mile 5 and just stop.  I'm not going to make it back.  The humidity was just way way way too much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I have a 9 mile rac ein two weeks.  I'm not sure I'm going to make it, but after thinking all day today, I'm going to do it.  I'm gonna try.  I'm so not looking forward to this.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5828545526312401964?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5828545526312401964/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5828545526312401964&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5828545526312401964'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5828545526312401964'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/07/beating-myself-up.html' title='Beating myself up'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-7314147016202349540</id><published>2009-06-18T16:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-18T16:59:46.703-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just thinking</title><content type='html'>I caught up with an old friend Sunday night.  They have never been very religious.  Ok, they pretty much announce themselves as an atheist to anyone who will listen.  Out of the blue they tell me they have started going to church.  I try to not act very shocked.  You don't hear this that often from an atheist.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I of course asked which church, and he told me he was going to the Universalist church down in Dallas.  They had a pretty big congregation.  He had been going since Easter and was loving it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess the Universalists are all inclusive.  I think I had heard this before.  He said there were Jews and Muslims there.  He liked the people and the speakers.  I just kept thinking "good for you".  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had just been thinking myself that morning that running has become more then just exercise for me.  I'm not going to go so far as to say its my church.  But, I think it has given me a lot.  I'm there on Sunday mornings, running for an hour with a group of sweet, supportive people.  I have a lot of head time to think things through.  Its been really nice.  I get a bit of zen a couple of times a week.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-7314147016202349540?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/7314147016202349540/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=7314147016202349540&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7314147016202349540'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7314147016202349540'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/06/just-thinking.html' title='Just thinking'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-7465834774580694420</id><published>2009-06-12T11:40:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-12T11:48:24.646-05:00</updated><title type='text'>A new food adventure</title><content type='html'>Nicole is coming through tonight on another one of her home from Houston jaunts. She is supposed to spend the night and requested Mexican.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Funny thing is, of all the food out there, Mexican is the last thing I crave, BUT this is only because of the absolute abundance of it.  When I lived in Detroit, I would insist upon landing in Houston that we head straight to Guadalajara.  I needed some good tex-mex.  Just one piece of fajita meat, and I was bliss.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, everytime Nicole comes to town we did Chuys.  I think once she was fine with it, but by the fourth visit she spoke up.  She requested no Chuys.  I told her I would have been fine with no Chuys on visit 2-4, but that is the place people always seem to pick, and I just go with the flow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I did some digging.  Since I am not a Mexican/Tex Mex afficionado, I started searching places not too far from my house.  I did think of Casa Milagro, and while it is good, I haven't been wowed.  It has quite a following though.  Everytime I go on the weekends the wait is out the door.  I thought of Desperados on Campbell, but I have been to the one down in Dallas a couple of times.  That has been done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My research ended with Apricio's in old downtown Plano.  I'm going to venture out and not do the same old same old, Veracruz.  Wish me luck!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-7465834774580694420?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/7465834774580694420/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=7465834774580694420&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7465834774580694420'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7465834774580694420'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/06/new-food-adventure.html' title='A new food adventure'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-9033094378451927711</id><published>2009-06-08T16:55:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-08T17:06:35.205-05:00</updated><title type='text'>What has become of my life</title><content type='html'>Sunday morning&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5 am - wake up&lt;br /&gt;5:10 am - wake up again&lt;br /&gt;5:15 am - go cuddle the kitten&lt;br /&gt;5:20 am - wash my face and put on clothes that don't smell&lt;br /&gt;5:30 am - meet Elizabeth on the back porch and get into my car&lt;br /&gt;5:31 am - smash my right side mirror to pieces while backing out of the garage&lt;br /&gt;5:32 am - repark my car, get into elizabeth's, and drive down to the run&lt;br /&gt;6 am - get to the run and look for my coach&lt;br /&gt;6:10 am - start running through the M-Streets and talking in loud voices about our absolute disgust of all the tear downs appearing in the neighborhood that do not comply with the original asthetic &lt;br /&gt;7 am - stop running, drink lots of water&lt;br /&gt;7:20 am  - get home.  Hug my big kitty.  Go hug my little kitty.  Make sure no one feels left out&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is not good people.  My life now revolves around my cat, my kitten, and the 5 miles I have to get in.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I replaced the mirror this morning.  I'm hoping these runs don't put me into the poor house.  My budget for the month has officially been blown out of the water!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-9033094378451927711?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/9033094378451927711/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=9033094378451927711&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/9033094378451927711'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/9033094378451927711'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/06/what-has-become-of-my-life.html' title='What has become of my life'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5913361877148568631</id><published>2009-06-03T14:31:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-06-03T14:42:10.114-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Violet</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SibPw2-UGQI/AAAAAAAAADQ/AnYRfvOz4qA/s1600-h/violet+008.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SibPw2-UGQI/AAAAAAAAADQ/AnYRfvOz4qA/s320/violet+008.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5343186446219221250" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The newest member of the household moved in, and its been interesting, to say the least.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My friend saved a mama cat from a shelter and was looking for homes for the four kittens.  I decided I could take another one in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I brought Violet home last Wednesday night, and poor thing was completely scared out of her mind.  I put her in the back bedroom and she hid.  I came in with a book and read, and she came out from under the bed a bit, but she was still figuring things out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lets just say, by Friday, Violet has figured out that humans are the most wonderful things in the world, especially me.  She just wants me in the room with her.  She runs around and completely tires herself out, and then comes over for some pets and a cuddle.  Its really sweet, BUT its kind of upsetting to the senior feline member of the household, Penny.  I think Penny could take it ok when she could ignore the thing in the other room, but the thing not only meows at the door, but now she puts her nose and paws under the door trying to get out.  You really can't ignore that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And so, the hissing begins.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I try to share my time between the two of them, but its a bit much.  I can't let Violet out of her room until she has been to the vet tomorrow, and she wants out DESPERATELY.  She reinacts escape from Alcatraz whenever I open the bedroom door.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tomorrow night, Violet gets to room the house.  Cross your fingers Penny doesn't attack her.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5913361877148568631?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5913361877148568631/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5913361877148568631&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5913361877148568631'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5913361877148568631'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/06/violet.html' title='Violet'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SibPw2-UGQI/AAAAAAAAADQ/AnYRfvOz4qA/s72-c/violet+008.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-3787798383730311945</id><published>2009-05-26T12:03:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-26T12:08:58.891-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Enough of me to go round?</title><content type='html'>For the last month or so I have been contemplating getting another animal.  While I love love love dogs, I have to admit that I'm not responsible enough.  I just can't make the final commitment there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I dropped the subject for a while, and then...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week I went ot lunch with a vendor contact, and at the end she looked at me and asked if I was an animal lover.  The next thing you know she is showing me pictures of a little tabby kitty she rescued that is 8 weeks old, and I melted.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really don't need another cat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My current cat is very used to and happy with her situation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I haven't had to deal with a kitten in years and years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, of course I said yes.  I'm picking up the little bugger on Wednesday.  I stayed up late last night researching on the internet kitten care and how to introduce a kitten to an older cat.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm seriously crossing my fingers my Penny doesn't take out the new addition to the family.  We are going to baby step it and put the kitten in another room and gradually bring her out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to give the baby kitty a good home, and the girl who rescued it said if it doesn't work out, she will always take it back.  So, I do have a backup plan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who knows, Penny might have some deeply hidden mothering needs or something.  (I seriously highly doubt this, but one can dream.)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-3787798383730311945?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/3787798383730311945/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=3787798383730311945&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3787798383730311945'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3787798383730311945'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/05/enough-of-me-to-go-round.html' title='Enough of me to go round?'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-526482207081597705</id><published>2009-05-19T08:32:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-19T08:47:12.298-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Worst cat mommy ever</title><content type='html'>Currently, I'm in a state of house overhaul.  I just got it into my head that I needed to fix up some things.  So, I'm fixing them all up at the same time.  I put new doors on, I retiled my bathroom floor, I updated the backyard, etc.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The problem is everything is going in piecemeal, and now I'm stuck doing all the clean up work.  Case in point:  my new front and back doors.  We popped them in over a month ago, and I'm finally getting to caulking the edges, painting the frame, and staining the new boards on the floor.  I have never stained before.  This has turned into a new adventure.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started on Sunday with the actual stain.  That was easy easy.  The house smelled a little bit, but I didn't really take note of it.  Then according to instructions I had to put on a clear coat.  They warned that would really stink.  I thought I would put a coat on and then go to running class.  No big deal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, as some may remember, I live with a cat, who had the joy of being locked up wiht the clear coat fumes for 2 hours.  I came home and the poor thing was high.  Seriously, she was in a great place.  If she could talk, she would say "hey man, I'm Jonesing for some Funyuns."  I opened windows and started airing out the place.  Not good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lesson learned.  One should stain and clear coat things outside the house and not inside the house, unless you want your cat do go on a psychodelic road trip.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-526482207081597705?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/526482207081597705/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=526482207081597705&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/526482207081597705'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/526482207081597705'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/05/worst-cat-mommy-ever.html' title='Worst cat mommy ever'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-8359118930878639936</id><published>2009-05-15T08:52:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-15T08:57:45.803-05:00</updated><title type='text'>The heat, yeah not so much</title><content type='html'>Yes, I live in Dallas for many reasons, but not a single one is because of the weather.  I hate the heat.  I can deal with the two months of Spring and the two months of Fall, but the summer just about kills me.  I spend most of the time in doors in the air conditioning or in someone swimming pool.  Just can't stand it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, just imagine how happy I was last night to run a 5k in 82 degrees with humidity.  I thought I was going to die.  After 2.7 miles I just turned to my friend and said "we have to stop".  We walked for about .2 miles and then finished it up.  I could have probably ran the whole thing, but I wasn't happy.  Isn't this running thing supposed to be fun?  I wasn't having fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Our time was about 2 minutes slower then the 5k I ran back in March when it was 45 degrees.  We just wooshed through that thing.  It was lovely.  The air was brisk. I was all bundled up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, I was sweating buckets.  It was nasty. Seriously.  I wouldn't let the race photographer get a picture.  Really don't want to be captured red faced and dry heaving my way down the Katy Trail.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess this means I'm switching to running in the mornings...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-8359118930878639936?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/8359118930878639936/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=8359118930878639936&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8359118930878639936'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8359118930878639936'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/05/heat-yeah-not-so-much.html' title='The heat, yeah not so much'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-4573688915494434008</id><published>2009-05-10T13:42:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-10T13:46:45.294-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Pressure Washers</title><content type='html'>Ok, its official.  I have the theme for my summer party.  I'm going to have a pressure washer and vietnamese food party.  Everyone seems to have a pressure washer.  It's like they are coming out of the woodwork.  &lt;br /&gt;Cindi has one&lt;br /&gt;Jenn has one&lt;br /&gt;Malice has one&lt;br /&gt;Kerry has one&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why does everyone have a pressure washer?  Are they a necessary evil?  Do I need one?  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, my house has four outside walls.  I'm thinking I will invite over my four pressure friends plus several others, assign them a wall, and let them get to it.  I will help out of course.  And then afterwords, we will eat fresh spring rolls and I will have coolers of beer and wine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it sounds like a great idea.  And then later in the summer I can have my "lets paint my house and eat thai food party".  Does anyone see a theme here???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-4573688915494434008?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/4573688915494434008/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=4573688915494434008&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4573688915494434008'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4573688915494434008'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/05/pressure-washers.html' title='Pressure Washers'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6686325693966575471</id><published>2009-05-07T08:27:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-05-07T08:44:17.494-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm not sure I Like Being an Adult</title><content type='html'>This morning I'm going to sign my paperwork on my refinance.  It has taken over a month to get this thing through.  I didn't know it would be so annoying.  You have to sign over 1000 sheets of paper and give them all your information including the name of your first born.  My mortgage guy is very sweet, but its like I'm leading him.  Kept having to write him and see what was happening.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the same time, I'm trying to finish up work in my backyard.  Working with contractors has me about to pull my hair out.  It was all hurry up and pick us, and then it takes 3 weeks to pour and stain the concrete, and then he immediately wants all his money.  I love how they can work as slow as possible, but you have to give them money ASAP.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I want to pressure wash the outside of the house.  I want to paint the outside of the house.  And so on, and so on.  Its like the thing with the house never ends.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6686325693966575471?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6686325693966575471/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6686325693966575471&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6686325693966575471'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6686325693966575471'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/05/im-not-sure-i-like-being-adult.html' title='I&apos;m not sure I Like Being an Adult'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2872754837508193906</id><published>2009-04-26T21:33:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-26T21:42:20.041-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My family</title><content type='html'>I just wrote someone today the following "my family is disfunctional and weird, but I love it."  And I stand by that 100%.  I think life would be so boring if my family was normal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have spent the last three days half baby-sitting my sister's kids in Little Rock.  I say half baby-sitting because the oldest one is 12.  He can really look after himself and the other two, but they like having me around so that they can have a third player in card games and laser tag.  I'm always out first.  When I was little, I used to hate to be out first.  Now at 34, I'm all good with it.  It means I can sit back and half fall asleep while they finish the game.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I learnt new phrases this weekend:&lt;br /&gt;Booty-cushion - means butt&lt;br /&gt;Nub - means someone who knows nothing about electronics or new stuff (aka ME)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was a bad aunt and yet a good aunt.  I downloaded all these songs for my nephews IPOD his mom wouldn't let him have.  Me, being smarter then the average bear, downloaded the versions with no explicit lyrics. So, in the end, I wasn't downloading anything bad.  Half of one of his songs is bleeped out.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then turned him on to some old Cure and Joy Division.  It was a joy to see an eight year old discover a love for 80s british pop.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, after three days and a countless number of games of war, my head just hurts.  I self medicated with a 2001 Chateauneauf de pape that I snuck over in my suitcase.  I shared it with my sister.  I thought she deserved it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I didn't bring up that I was secretly celebrating that it had been exactly 6 years since she beat breast cancer.  She doesn't like to talk about it.  Its just not spoken of.  So, when we gave each other a toast tonight, I just said it to myself.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2872754837508193906?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2872754837508193906/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2872754837508193906&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2872754837508193906'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2872754837508193906'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/04/my-family.html' title='My family'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-4484735531364298847</id><published>2009-04-20T11:25:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-20T11:40:06.751-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Car karma</title><content type='html'>Mine is just awful, and its getting worse.  Throwing myself a mini pity party.  I'm going to only focus on my current automobile and not even mention my previous one and its karma, fridge falling on it and all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;October 2003 - I buy my car&lt;br /&gt;October 2004 - drunk driver takes off the back end of car&lt;br /&gt;March 2005 - I scratch up the side of my car parking at my apartments.  Just a mess.&lt;br /&gt;October 2005 - I am dropped from my insurance.  BOO!!&lt;br /&gt;June 2006 - First cracked windshield&lt;br /&gt;March 2007 - A certain friend scrapes my car against the gate of her apartment complex&lt;br /&gt;February 2008 - Crazy mini-van lady sideswipes my car&lt;br /&gt;June 2008 - Second cracked windshield&lt;br /&gt;January 2009 - Battery and whole electrical system fried!!&lt;br /&gt;March 2009 - I have asleep hit the shopping car return thingy at Wholefoods.&lt;br /&gt;March 2009 - I rear-end someone and they bump into someone else and total their car.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its all a stressfull mess.  MESS!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My car, suprisingly, is A-OK fine.  I think when they fixed it from that poll, they reinforced the front end.  The poor guy I hit.  Just feel so bad for him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, the third guy whose car sustained no damage is starting to claim medical issues.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I fear I might be dropped again from insurance.  Trying really hard to keep my head up.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-4484735531364298847?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/4484735531364298847/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=4484735531364298847&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4484735531364298847'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4484735531364298847'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/04/car-karma.html' title='Car karma'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-520275129032054550</id><published>2009-04-17T13:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-17T14:00:14.950-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Not only do I spell horribly</title><content type='html'>but I talk really fast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am trying to get out of here early, and I called a consultant in Los Angeles.  I wanted to let him know that if he wants to get a document out today, he would have to send it since he hadn't gotten back to me with the contact information.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I quickly said "I am delivering to you the new version," and left my number to call if he didn't receive it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;From across the way, my friend Eric yells out, "there is the regular way and the Victoria way of schmoozing."  I was like "what do you mean?"  He said, "it sounded like you were delivering to him the virgin.  How do I get in on that deal?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oops.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think he knew what I meant...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-520275129032054550?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/520275129032054550/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=520275129032054550&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/520275129032054550'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/520275129032054550'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/04/not-only-do-i-spell-horribly.html' title='Not only do I spell horribly'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-3533838346335697876</id><published>2009-04-15T08:05:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-15T08:26:59.910-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Just call me Julia Child</title><content type='html'>A couple of weeks ago, my friend Jason had a genius idea for a party, Baconfest.  Of course I had to attend.  How can you not attend Baconfest?  That's like turning down an invite to a party called Chocolate-o-rama.  Just not done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All invitees to the party had to bring a bacon dish.  At the end of the night, the judges would vote on whose were the best, and there would be prizes.  This brought out my competitive spirit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started thinking about what to bring.  My first though, of course, was bacon chocolate cupcakes.  I had heard about these delicacies through an odd food blog I read every once in a while.  I even went and looked up the recipe. BUT, as the date drew near, I started hearing from others that there might be other bacon chocolate recipes attending the party.  I was not going to be a conformist.  I had to think of something new.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To days before the party, in a funk, I told my boss about my predicament.  He is a pretty good cook.  I thought he might know something.  He mentioned that whenever he has a big party, one caterer he likes brings these things called "zingers", bacon wrapped apricots.  He said I should try something like that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I did.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The afternoon of the party I bought a package of bacon and a package of dried apricots, and I went to work.  I wrapped the bacon around the apricots until the edges met and places them on a baking sheet.  I then mixed soy sauce, brown sugar, and a little kung po sauce, and basted them.  I put them in the over for 25 minutes, waited for them to cool a bit, put them in a serving dish and poured on more of the sauce.  That was it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I thought they tasted a bit too bacony, but I went with it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hours later, I showed up at the party.  I was kind of late and people had already been eating bacon for hours.  I was going to leave my dish in the car, but Cherry told me bring it in.  I started passing out the apricots, and people LOVED them.  I didn't expect that reaction.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;As the night went on, I received more compliments.  It was really an ego boost.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND THEN, when they annouced the winners, guess who came in second.  ME!  Over the bacon egg-rolls, chocolate covered bacon, and cherry's bacon dip.  YAY!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, fast forward a week or two.  I'm walking down Lamar back to my car after the Morrissey show, and this guy comes walking towards me out of Bill's records.  He is giving me this funny look.  I'm with friends so I'm safe and ok, but I don't get his look.  This guy walks right up to me and says "did you make the bacon wrapped apricots at Baconfest?"  I just started laughing and said "yes."  He put out his hand and said "let me shake your hand. Those were really good.  You should have won."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me being me, I gave him a big hug.  People don't compliment my cooking that often.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Maybe I can cook, just a little.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-3533838346335697876?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/3533838346335697876/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=3533838346335697876&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3533838346335697876'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3533838346335697876'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/04/just-call-me-julie-child.html' title='Just call me Julia Child'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-3090042261770254629</id><published>2009-04-09T16:21:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-04-09T16:32:14.610-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Santeria</title><content type='html'>As I get older, I have come to discover that I appear to attract a strange and sordid dating pool.  I'm ok with it, but others seem to find it a bit odd.  Here is an excerpt from a work conversation from the other week:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Renu (over the wall to me) "Heeeey, how did the date go last night."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me "Eh.  I don't know if I'm really that into him."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Renu "No, we have had this conversation before.  You have to give everyone a chance.  None of this weird picky stuff.  Two dates minimum."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me "Well, he had a couple of red flags."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Renu "Like what?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me "Well, he discussed how he had gone to Cuba.  And I said, I know a couple of people who have been there.  They said it was gorgeous, and the resorts were actually nice.  He said he didn't see the resorts.  He went to Cuba for a specific reason.  For a ceremony.  So, I asked what ceremony, and then he went into this whole discussion about how he practices Santeria, not the animal sacrifice kind but he does respect those who do animal sacrifice, and that some holy man lives in Cuba and he went to see him."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Renu (silence)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me "And also, his father lives in Mexico, and he hasn't left the country for seven years due to tax reasons."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Renu "Yeah. Red flag.  How come you can't meet a nice baptist boy from Plano?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Me "Do you see me with a baptist?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Renu "No, but at least they don't perform animal sacrifice."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm. Back to the drawing board.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-3090042261770254629?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/3090042261770254629/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=3090042261770254629&amp;isPopup=true' title='7 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3090042261770254629'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3090042261770254629'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/04/santeria.html' title='Santeria'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>7</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-8150423557988445517</id><published>2009-03-31T12:14:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-31T12:21:30.054-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Karma</title><content type='html'>I'm having some good karma this week.  I don't know what I did and to whom, but I'm glad I did it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It seems like all these people who couldn't stand me or were mad at me have completely changed face.  I'm all cool now.  It's slightly weird, but I'm running with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One example.  Last year, I dated this guy, and he kind of went crazy on me, and we broke up.  I don't think I ever really liked him. I liked having someone like me.  Never the best relationship to get into.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I did think he was a nice person.  So, after we broke up, I wrote him and wished him good luck on a bike ride he was doing.  Nothing.  And then two weeks later I was at a bar and sitting next to someone he knew, he walked over me to talk to the friend.  Didn't even say anything to me.  I offically realized, I was dead to him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward months and months later.  I bought a new bike on Craigslist.  ITS FABULOUS.  Its a 70s AMF 3 speed.  Hot, metallic pink.  YAY!!  Anyway, before I purchased it, I wanted to be sure I was getting a good price.  So, I write him an email titled "please don't delete, i need bike help", and then proceed to tell him about the bike.  The response I get "I wouldnt' delete your email silly".  Ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, yesterday I write him to say I got the bike, it's great, but the back tire is kind of flat and the gear stick a bit.  I wanted to know if Richardson Bike Mart is too expensive and if there was someplace better to go.  The next thing you know he is offering to come over and clean up my bike for me.  I'm all for free.  So, I tell him to come by.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, I don't know what happened.  Maybe he is in love and in a good place in his life?  Whatever it is, he has seemed to pass the Koolaid around.  Everyone's being super nice to me.  Just watch.  I just jinxed it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-8150423557988445517?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/8150423557988445517/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=8150423557988445517&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8150423557988445517'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8150423557988445517'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/03/good-karma.html' title='Good Karma'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6176671944421213362</id><published>2009-03-30T08:32:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-30T08:42:50.585-05:00</updated><title type='text'>33:07</title><content type='html'>That was my final time last Saturday.  I actually ran the WHOLE 5k.  There was one point on a hill where I just wanted to hurt someone and stop, but I wouldn't let myself.  And for anyone that says that Dallas does not have any hills, LET ME TELL YOU, there are some and they are not fun.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I had my handy dandy watch that kept track of my pace, and I was good.  I didn't want to putter out.  Every time someone would pass me, I would speed up without realizing it.  I would look at the watch and slow myself down.  I think it was my inner athlete trying to come out.  I just knew that if I ran fast I wouldn't finish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Also, in my head, I thought a 5k was 3.5 miles.  Don't ask me why.  So at the three mile mark,  I'm doing ok.  I'm thinking I have enough energy for half a mile, and then up ahead I see the finish line.  I'm like heyyyy.  So, I just start sprinting.  Why not?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Afterwards, was Craft for breakfast.  I just thought I deserved a good treat.  And Craft has a pretty good breakfast.  Not expensive.  I got a fritata with bacon, cheddar, and spinache for $12.  Not too bad.  And by golly, I deserved it.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6176671944421213362?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6176671944421213362/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6176671944421213362&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6176671944421213362'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6176671944421213362'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/03/3307.html' title='33:07'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-8786932636806193954</id><published>2009-03-24T13:55:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-24T14:00:41.150-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My new fitness regime</title><content type='html'>Ok, I have had a complete flash of genius.  Actually, I had it a couple of weeks ago, but we are pretending it just happened.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only way I can get myself to exercise is if there is a goal or money behind it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like to give to charity.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Voila&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The grand Victoria running scheme:  run a charity 5k a month.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will spend most of the month training (aka running around my neighborhood) and at the end of the month I will run a 5k for a good cause.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its a win/win situation.  I will get tons of cute t-shirts.  AND afterwards, I will get to celebrate with brunch and a well deserved mimosa OR maybe dim sum.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHOSE WITH ME???  First one is this Saturday.  The Bufferfly Boogie.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-8786932636806193954?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/8786932636806193954/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=8786932636806193954&amp;isPopup=true' title='9 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8786932636806193954'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8786932636806193954'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/03/my-new-fitness-regime.html' title='My new fitness regime'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>9</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1566056029179540725</id><published>2009-03-23T09:21:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-23T09:28:39.416-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Ah the tax man</title><content type='html'>This Saturday morning, I finally sat down with a nice cup of tea and turbo tax and walked through all my paperwork.  I had originally done this a couple of weeks ago, but I discovered a slight mistake in my HSA contribution calculation.  So, I decided to spend a couple of hours walking through the program with a fine tooth comb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I should note that while I was doing said walk through of program, my handyman was putting in a new front and back door.  I felt the need to bounce questions off of him.  Turns out he was a wealth of knowledge.  He was the one who informed me that the supplies I bought for my kitchen redo were considered personal property.  Cha Ching.  He also informed me that I could count the days I worked from home during the year as home office.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who knew?  Well, I guess a lot of people know that.  I usually just do an pretty easy tax filing.  I don't really have much.  My house.  My car.  My cat.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, my refund is pretty small this year, but I actually don't have an issue with that.  It means they are taking out the right amount of money.  I was brought up to believe you should be around zero during tax time every year, if you get a refund, it means the government is holding on to your money too long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess that's another monkey off my back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1566056029179540725?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1566056029179540725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1566056029179540725&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1566056029179540725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1566056029179540725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/03/ah-tax-man.html' title='Ah the tax man'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5690753023231768349</id><published>2009-03-19T09:03:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-19T09:21:17.506-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Vietnam</title><content type='html'>People keep asking me to talk about my trip, and for the last couple of weeks, I could only really give snippets.  My mind just couldn't wrap itself around all I experienced. I went through culture shock and aw.  It wasn't like boarding a plane to London.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I have finally digested it enough to write snippets.  I wish I had had the internet and enough time to write while I was there, but I decided I wanted to spend more time actually discovering the place instead of hovering over the computer.  Sorry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So today, we will discuss Halong Bay.  I will say again, I think everyone needs to go there at least once in their life.  Unfortunately, I fear it is already becoming very over-run as we speak.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Luckily, I did research before we left, and found a boat that takes a different path through the bay.  Its also smaller, which for me was a plus and a minus.  Plus, you have a smaller number of people you have to share the boat with.  Minus, if the people you have on the boat with you are awful, your kind of stuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, after a four hour drive from Hanoi through rice paddies and small towns, with a 15 minute stop at a "craft" market, we finally get to the bay.  They drop us off and have us sit in this dining hall at tables that demarcate what boat we are on.  Our boat is Red Dragon.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We soon discover that there are two Red Dragons.  They had just finished building the second one the previous month.  Me, Elizabeth, and Kristine are whisked away with three other people to a small little motor boat which put-puts us up to our Junk.  I call it a Junk because its a replica of a chinese pirate ship from the 1800s.  I know, sounds kind of dorky, but MAN was it beautiful.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, our room on the boat was prettier then our hotel room in Hanoi. The bathroom was spotless and we had windows on either side that just gave us luscious views.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Views of what?  You ask.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The rocks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can't explain them, but they are amazing.  I seriously spent a day on this boat sailing in between these rocks through a thin fog and loved every minute of it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Granted, we ate constantly and had a side trip to a fishing village.  But overall, it was the rocks. On the second day, I got up at 6 am and just went out on the boat and just looked at them while the sun rose.  The only other person up top was the captain.  There were no other boats about.  It was just me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Loved it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, I do have to say, we did run into an odd moment where during dinner the night before the crew put on a bit of a talent show and had us participate in a partriotic song about Ho Chi Min.  FYI, if there is a video of this and I'm brought before a senate sub-committee, I only joined in because the boys were so cute.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I was good and went sea kayaking with Elizabeth the second day and took a dip in the water.  How many times in your life are you going to get a chance like this?  It was freezing, but worth it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;On the boat, the other guests told us we have to go to Ankor Watt.  They said Halong Bay was right up there for top places, but we had to go to Ankor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I made me decision then that Cambodia would be visited within the next couple of years.  I have to go back!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5690753023231768349?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5690753023231768349/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5690753023231768349&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5690753023231768349'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5690753023231768349'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/03/vietnam.html' title='Vietnam'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6920804446130640536</id><published>2009-03-17T23:06:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-17T23:30:49.395-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Neighborhood Services</title><content type='html'>About once a month, my friend Shandi emails and requests a night away from her children.  I, as always, am happy to oblige.  Unfortunately, Shandi has had a rough month, and not only did she have two sick kids, but her husband got pneumonia and messed up his ear drum.  So, this month, when she asked where I wanted to go, I said lets be all Dallas and try Neighborhood Services.  She had never heard of it, but she was all for it.  Elizabeth always up for a new restaurant came with&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We met at the restaurant at 6 tonight.  I guess that was right when it opened.  I'm so glad we decided to meet after work.  We were seated immediately.  There were a couple of booths open, and we asked if we could have one, but they said they were saving those for bigger parties up to 6.  I guess beggers can't be choosers, but I would like to point out I never saw a party bigger then 4 in those booths.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhoo, as is the case, we just kept talking and talking.  It took us a while to actually look at the menu.  The waitress didn't push at all.  It was refreshing.  Finally, we did order a bottle of wine, and as I was a bit hungry, I asked the waitress for a couple of appetizer suggestions.  Elizabeth happens to love veggies so we decided to share the fried asparagus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Actually, it tasty and a nice light start. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Moving on, I got the waitress to start describing the salads and half way through her description of the crab and avacodo one, I stopped her and just told her I would have it.  Elizabeth decided to get it too.  I remembered the salads from Hibiscus which were enough for a whole table, but she assured us these were meant for one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to say, the salad was a bit bigger then I expected, but I hoovered that thing down.  It was a nice lump of crabmeat with chopped avacado and some citrus.  It was just good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then came something completely different.  The noodle special was pasta bolognese.  I don't know why, but I heard the waitress describe the bolognese and its 10 hour cook time, and I knew I had to have it.  Again, not a speck left on the plate when it was done.  Seriously, it was delicious.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I kept telling the waitress  how much I liked it, and she went into a description of how the chef would make the chicken stock for the sauce. She just kept talking and I just got turned on.  Food is such an aphrodisiac.  Seriously, I would do dirty things to a man who came over to my house and made me this dish.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, we moved on to desert.  Because we are all American girls, we had to get the Ding Dong desert.  I was done after 2 or 3 bites, but since we shared, it was the perfect size.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overall, it was a good meal.  Shandi got a good night away from her boys.  I got turned on by a man whose face I never saw.  What else is new??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6920804446130640536?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6920804446130640536/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6920804446130640536&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6920804446130640536'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6920804446130640536'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/03/neighborhood-services.html' title='Neighborhood Services'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-81225660391387237</id><published>2009-03-16T10:57:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-16T11:27:35.248-05:00</updated><title type='text'>On a rampage</title><content type='html'>Everyone feels the need to yell at me these days.  I just don't get it. So, I just started yelling back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Situation 1:  The gym&lt;br /&gt;I discover I was being double charged by my gym.  I call and inquire about this.  Two years ago, I signed up at one branch of the gym, but I actually work out at another branch that is closer to work.  The original branch just became independent and appeared to be charging me.  The gym manager was going to talk to them and figure this out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get a call out of the blue from a woman at the independent gym. She was a very Texas woman.  She wanted to know what my issue was.  I belonged to their gym.  I said no, I joined there but I really didn't want to go to that branch.  She just went off on me about this that and the other.  Finally, I just stopped her.  I just said "look your upsetting me.  All I want is for someone to stop double charging me.  I don't want to go to your gym.  Deal with it."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Situation 2:  Turbo Tax&lt;br /&gt;When I completed my tax return this year, I paid extra for Turbo Tax to review my return.  I was supposed to get a professional review.  I paid for it because I had noticed an issue with it last year, counting my contribution to my HSA as taxable income.  I specifically asked them to review this.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The response I got, Turbo Tax is calculating this correctly.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I email and request a refund.  This morning I get a call from a very gruff man in New York.  He just starts going off on me.  When I start to explain how his report does not walk me through anything, he interrupts me.  I go off on how he is being incredibly rude.  Next thing I know he is hanging up the phone on me and saying he will send me my refund.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in shock.  If someone starts talking over me and doesn't listen to me, I'm going to go off on them about their rudeness.  I'm not going to fight someone who doesn't listen to a word I say.  I'm going to call them out.  I guess they have no time for that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ug.  Rude people.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-81225660391387237?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/81225660391387237/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=81225660391387237&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/81225660391387237'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/81225660391387237'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/03/on-rampage.html' title='On a rampage'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6295529900618531512</id><published>2009-03-13T09:09:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2009-03-13T09:42:29.994-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Life Update</title><content type='html'>I used to be so good about blogging everyday, but I fear the intense need I used to have to write a book based on my ramblings has subsided.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, if anyone wants to use the great idea I used to have for a book, your more then welcome to.  I wanted to call it Regina and have it be a book of short stories that all relate in some way to the this girl who plays Freddie Mercury in a traveling Queen cover band.  Each chapter would be titled the name of a city the group stops in for the night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just a thought.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, it took me over a week to recuperate from Vietnam and my last minute work trip to Minneapolis.  I had a wonderful night with Jane and her family there.  I can't believe how adorable her daughter is.  And such a good girl.  I had one of those life moments where I sat back and thought, maybe I am a breeder.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then it was back to real life this week.  I showed up for running class on Monday.  I was feeling ok.  I think I had been back on a normal sleep schedule for a day and the mini cold I had had over the weekend seemed to have dissapated.  We started running and I was ok.  By 25 minutes into it, I just wanted to hurt someone.  I made the three miles we had scheduled to run, but my coach had to run beside me and talk me through the last block.  It was not pretty.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To push myself, I signed up for a 5k at the end of the month, the Butterfly Boogie.  I think I might try to sign up for a 5k a month, in order to have some sort of self directed goals set up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I was supposed to run Wednesday night with Elizabeth, but it was raining.  I know you can still run in the rain, but I personally am not into it when its 37 degrees outside.  Elizabeth was still gung ho about doing it, but she called me from the office.  She had forgot to bring pants.  Damn!  We had to meet for dinner instead.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was a night at Victor Tangos.  That place still isn't busy and the ahi tuna nachos and deep fried green beans with wasabi aoli are my current craving.  I heard its awful on a Saturday night, but I don't really do Knox/Henderson on a Saturday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then last night was class again.  We met at the Cooper Center for a fitness lecture.  My coach didn't show.  So we were lumped into another training group with this older male coach.  He said we would be running an easy 25 minutes.  My version of easy is a 12:30 mile.  I'm just a baby runner you know.  He was having us run 10:50.  Obviously people have different definitions of easy...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then there was the usual family drama this week.  I have a large family and the phone tree can take hours to get through.  I had one of those life moments where I sat back and thought, maybe I don't really want to pass on my genetic code.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6295529900618531512?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6295529900618531512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6295529900618531512&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6295529900618531512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6295529900618531512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/03/life-update.html' title='Life Update'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5860156919165871770</id><published>2009-03-02T23:39:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-03-02T23:46:36.768-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Award for worst blogger ever</title><content type='html'>Ok, there was internet in Vietnam, but it was kind of sketchy and in and out, and I didn't want to spend all my time on the computer.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me just say, I know people have certain perscpectives about this world and the places in it.  I think I'm a better person for really going out there and exploring.  Life is more then my little corner of Richardson.  Life is:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; - trusting in others, especially complete strangers&lt;br /&gt; - learning how to adjust and go with the flow&lt;br /&gt; - opening your eyes to the beauty in things that are different&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I seriously believe that everyone, EVERYONE, needs to visit Halong Bay before they pass away.  It is the most amazing place I have ever been.  My new happy place is on a slow moving boat in the fog that meanders through its rocks.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sadly, I give it all five years.  Five years before its completely over-run with multiple boats and people, and the caves have huge railing and plastic steps and the fishing villagers hock "hand-made" pillow cases.  I say go NOW!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5860156919165871770?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5860156919165871770/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5860156919165871770&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5860156919165871770'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5860156919165871770'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/03/award-for-worst-blogger-ever.html' title='Award for worst blogger ever'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-4887271197513769048</id><published>2009-02-16T17:40:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T18:03:33.469-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Lets start at the beginning</title><content type='html'>This morning, I appear to be suffering from a now mild case of jetlag and thought what a better time to actually type down what has happened.  I believe I have about 20 minutes before the propoganda starts going out over the loudspeakers.  I'm not sure propoganda is the right word.  I've never lived anywhere that had daily announcements over loudspeakers.  Kind of fascinating.  Kind of animal farmish too...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, FRIDAY&lt;br /&gt;I get up at 4 am to finish packing and get to the airport for my 6:30 am flight to San Francisco with Elizabeth.  Very uneventful.  We meet Kristine at the airport and trudge over to our 12 hour Asina flight to Seoul.  Its going to be long.  It was long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only thing that kept me going was food time.  You had the choice of American or Korean.  Of course I picked Korean.  I had bi bim bap while flying over Anchorage.  No one wanted to play travel scrabble with me.  I kept thinking it would be different if Jane or Jen was on the trip.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SATURDAY&lt;br /&gt;We get into Seoul haggard and barely moving and zombiewalk through transfer over to our flight to Hanoi.  We get on the plane, and I proceed to completely conk out for the next 5 hours.  Finally, Hanoi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We slowly, ever so slowly weave our way through customs, get our luggage, and meet our driver.  I knew that after that long of a flight, I was gonna need a ride.  Ta da!  He gradually introduced us to driving in Hanoi.  It's a free for all.  That is all I can say.  Luckily I was too asleep to realize how many people, besides us, he almost killed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After 20 minutes, we got to the hotel, Hanoi Elegance 2, a tiny storfront in the old quarter.  I couldn't take everything in because of the dark and my exhaustion.  We made our way in, signed the paperwork, got to our room and crashed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SUNDAY&lt;br /&gt;We decided to take today easy and just fly by the seat of our pants.  We made our way downstairs early, and over breakfast at the hotel saw that Ho Chi Mins mausoleum was closed after 11 am.  So, we just hightailed it over there.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;BUT FIRST, the hotel insisted on gettng our taxi.  Taxis are the biggest scam in town, even to natives.  You have to watch out for them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We get to the mausoleum complex and we see the line going out the door, and around the corner and down the street about half a mile and then around another corner.  The driver drops us off and waves us good luck.  And we get in line.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We are the only white people.  I thought surely there would be more, but Kristine pointed out that others were probably not as excited as me to see the body of a communist leader who died in 1969.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We get through the first security and promise them we are not carrying knives, and the line keeps going.  We get through the second security and hand over our cameras.  No pictures allowed.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Side note, no shorts, exposed shoulders, or hands in pockets allowed either.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;They line us up two by two, and we shuffle in.  It was mind blowing.  Honestly.  We walked through the communist complex with the permanent grandstands to the gray stone tomb.  Its silent.  Not a word. Not a giggle.  The two lines just keep moving.  We go up the stairs and into the room.  You walk around him.  He lies there in a patch of lovely yellow light with the hammer and sickle and vietnamese star behind him.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then you walk out into the hot sun. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just very surreal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;After viewing him and seeing his little house on stilts, you go to the museum to discover his life.  FYI, we aren't even mentioned, but the French were not portrayed very well.  I believe the word tyranny was bandied about a bit.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh damn, gotta shower.  They are picking us up for Halong Bay soon.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-4887271197513769048?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/4887271197513769048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=4887271197513769048&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4887271197513769048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4887271197513769048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/02/lets-start-at-beginning.html' title='Lets start at the beginning'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-4875720130449720523</id><published>2009-02-16T08:54:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-16T09:12:05.119-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Where in the world</title><content type='html'>Alas, I have been awful lately.  After a horrible business trip in Houston followed by a rotten cold, I barely had anytime to deal with life before I left for my vacation.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soooo, I am finally writing from my hotel room in Hanoi.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, its kind of surreal.  Something I've been planning since June actually is happening.  We bought the ticket and arranged some hotel rooms, but other then that, we decided to come over here and wing it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm half asleep after a day of street food and cheap vietnamese beer, but I thought I would put a little list together of quick things I discovered:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1)  Scooters.  Scooters.  Scooters.  They can fit whole families on them.  Mom, dad, and two kids plus 3 boxes, 5 baskets, and a chicken.&lt;br /&gt;2)  Frogger is not just a video game.  Its a way of life.&lt;br /&gt;3)  Being a minority.  &lt;br /&gt;4)  A lot of white people don't want to see a dead Ho Chi Min (I personally found it to be very cool experience)&lt;br /&gt;5)  4 stools on the side of an intersection and a charcoal grill = amazing food&lt;br /&gt;6)  I have chia hair, it grows in water&lt;br /&gt;7)  Vietnamese winter = Houston summer&lt;br /&gt;8)  I never want to experience a Vietnamese summer&lt;br /&gt;9)  There are no trash cans for street food.  You can just drop the stick.&lt;br /&gt;10) People are nice.  No matter where you go.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-4875720130449720523?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/4875720130449720523/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=4875720130449720523&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4875720130449720523'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4875720130449720523'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/02/where-in-world.html' title='Where in the world'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5529570455108977515</id><published>2009-02-05T09:00:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-05T09:18:53.276-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What is love</title><content type='html'>Last night in bookclub, we had a bit of fight.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Let me put a back story on this first.  My friend Tammy and I have different thoughts on love.  She thinks you should follow it and do what it dictates, and I believe you need to have it, but not let it rule your life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think it stems from our upbringing and our mothers.  Doesn't it always come back to your family?  They are the ones who screw you up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I was telling a story about a guy I know.  He has had a girlfriend for a while, and she sat him down a little while ago and said she "loved" him, but she knew that he "loved" her more.  She didn't feel the relationship was fair, and she broke up with him.  I don't think he could take it, and soon enough, he convinced her to come back.  And now they are dating again.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So I was saying, I just think the whole situation is a mess.  While she isn't blameless, I stated that he has no respect for himself.  Someone has just told him they don't "love" him enough.  And yet, he goes back to them.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Tammy didn't agree with me.  She said he was in love.  When your in love you do things like that, and I just didn't understand love.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, don't tell me I don't understand love.  I get love, but I understand loving someone else, and I understand loving yourself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm.  Oh well.  I think there has to be a happy medium, but I just don't get setting yourself up for a fall.  I guess some people love being in love.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5529570455108977515?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5529570455108977515/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5529570455108977515&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5529570455108977515'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5529570455108977515'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/02/what-is-love.html' title='What is love'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-8908005696638083265</id><published>2009-02-03T09:01:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-02-03T09:18:59.957-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Expectations</title><content type='html'>I am not atheltic.  This has been drilled into me from childhood.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So how come I ran 3 miles last night, after a week off because of a cold, with no problems. Not even a blister on my foot.  My expectations of myself are way too low.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Who was the one who decided I wasn't athletic?  It certainly wasn't me.  I think the problem was I just tried out for the wrong sports.  T-ball was probably not the right choice for me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;T-ball.  Oh how I can't stand t-ball.  Seriously, I used to strike out all the time at t-ball.  HOW IS THAT POSSIBLE??  I think I got on base once in the 2 years my mom signed me up for it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night though, I just kept running.  I knew we had gone pretty far for pretty long.  My coach wanted to prove to us that we could run a 5k without even trying.  And we can.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess my paradigm is shifting.  Maybe I'm not just artsy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-8908005696638083265?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/8908005696638083265/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=8908005696638083265&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8908005696638083265'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8908005696638083265'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/02/expectations.html' title='Expectations'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2741199112922345586</id><published>2009-01-30T09:57:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-30T10:05:53.829-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Wally Lamb</title><content type='html'>Last night, the annual Art &amp; Letters Live had its kick off authore, Wally Lamb.  I found him to be a very good speaker.  Sometimes, authors can write well, but they are unable to really connect with their audience in person.  For example, Sue Monk Kidd, the poor woman had no clue what she was doing.  She spent a hour going through her new book at the time "The Mermaids Chair".  She went on and on and on.  By the end of her speech, I realized I didn't have to get the book, she had told me the whole story.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anway, I digress.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wally read a autobiographical essay he had written and a short excerpt from his most recent book.  Then they had question time.  It turns out, Wally has some very very rabid fans.  A few women ran up to the Mike and proclaimed they were Delores from "She's Come Undone" and how had he gotten into their head.  Other people discussed personal emails they had sent to him on specific dates.  And there were the last crazy few who had spent hours finding common threads between his three books that even Wally didn't think existed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But the last question was a good one.  The woman said it was obvious to her that all his book titles come from songs.  That got me thinking.  I immediately realized the first one.  I started to sing "Shes come Undone" in my head.  The second book title I couldn't place.  "I Know This Much Is True".  Wally laughed and talked about for a month when he was finishing up that book, he couldn't get the old Spandeau Ballet song "True" out of his head.  The next thing you know, half the crowd was singing the lyrics and bopping their head.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Made me laugh.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And now, I can't get the lyric out.  I will be sitting here writing a report thinking, and then all of a sudden the phrase "i know this much is true" will go through my head.  And of course I have to half sing it outloud.  Thanks Wally.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2741199112922345586?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2741199112922345586/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2741199112922345586&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2741199112922345586'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2741199112922345586'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/01/wally-lamb.html' title='Wally Lamb'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-8185589301607088618</id><published>2009-01-29T14:28:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-29T14:58:05.732-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Related?</title><content type='html'>It was pointed out to me that everytime I become popular with the boys, I get sick.  Instead of psychosabotaging relationships, my body physicially reacts.  It wants to try to see how disgusting it can be and test the man in my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Surprisingly, people seem to find me cute when I'm sick.  Seriously.  I'm all phlegmy and coughing up hairballs, and I'm told I sound like Kathleen Turner.  They still want to meet up with me, but instead of getting wine, how about a cup of coffee.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its very intriguing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't want to be near a sick man.  Ew.  I would prefer they call me when they have their sinuses all cleaned out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, last night I treated myself to some tom yum soup and pad thai from Sawadika.  YUM.  I love that place. It's on Campbell near 75 in the old Sushi Sake spot.  The soup was nice and a bit spicey, and then the slightly sweet pad thai after.  It put me in a good food coma.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-8185589301607088618?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/8185589301607088618/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=8185589301607088618&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8185589301607088618'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8185589301607088618'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/01/related.html' title='Related?'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1320873056664016048</id><published>2009-01-27T11:34:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-27T11:37:43.591-06:00</updated><title type='text'>You people make me sick</title><content type='html'>I don't know who you are, but I have a bone to pick with you.  I've got gunk in my upper respiratory tract, and it wasn't there last week.  I blame you!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I swear I had all these friends text me they were sick this weekend, but I don't really think you can catch a cold via text message.  So, they are off the hook.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what a day to be sick on.  Its 30 degrees and raining.  I keep saying I'm going to run to the Primacare, but I don't really want to leave the cosey indoors at the moment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will not be sick when I leave for Vietnam.  I will not be sick when I leave for Vietnam.  If I say it enough times, it will come true.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1320873056664016048?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1320873056664016048/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1320873056664016048&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1320873056664016048'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1320873056664016048'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/01/you-people-make-me-sick.html' title='You people make me sick'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-706667669858476934</id><published>2009-01-25T19:08:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-25T19:14:12.035-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I have been remiss</title><content type='html'>This week was hard.  I just couldn't bring myself to blog.  It was one of those work weeks.  I was onsite at a client, and they provided our food for the three days.  I seriously survived on doritos and coke.  It was the only edible thing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;You can really tell a difference when you go from a healthy diet to total crap food.  I was completely dragging.  I kept saying every night that I was going to work out.  I was going to run.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Did I?  No.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I just wanted to go to my room, eat, and cash out.  For 8 hours I would be on.  I would be smiley, smart consultant Victoria, which is fine, but its draining!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So now I get to go back to the office and pick up the pieces.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One good thing that happened.  I was told by a couple of people I looked really good and fit.  I guess this running thing, when I actually do it, is working.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-706667669858476934?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/706667669858476934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=706667669858476934&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/706667669858476934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/706667669858476934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/01/i-have-been-remiss.html' title='I have been remiss'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-4710299884102010604</id><published>2009-01-21T07:59:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-21T08:09:07.480-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I've become a pod person</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, Obama was sworn in.  Half my office was in the kitchen watching.  I was at my desk trying to finish up a presentation.  A friend came by and tried to get me to move my butt, but I just didn't see the point.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got my work done and moved on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then this morning I had a bit of a flash back.  Its 2001 on a lazy September Detroit morning. I'm walking through the reception area at the office and on the plasma tv they keep showing this airplane crashing into the world trade center.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I was in shock. The receptionist turns up the sound, and I stay riveted.  Eventually, the entire reception area is full of us just watching.  I'm there for a couple of hours with others just taking it all in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I eventually get back to my desk, and one of my coworkers Michelle calls me.  She had been at a client.  I tell her what has just happened.  Her response, "oh my goodness.  Does that mean we won't have the hospital meeting this afternoon?  Have you finished the presentation?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My mouth fell open.  That is what she was worried about.  I told her no I don't think we have the meeting.  We will reschedule.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This morning I realized I pulled a Michelle yesterday.  Not good.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-4710299884102010604?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/4710299884102010604/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=4710299884102010604&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4710299884102010604'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4710299884102010604'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/01/ive-become-pod-person.html' title='I&apos;ve become a pod person'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-3001626043976469264</id><published>2009-01-15T08:10:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-15T08:33:40.749-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm going to go to heaven for the weather</title><content type='html'>and hell for the company.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I heard that in a song the other day, and I can't get it out of my mind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Bascially, I'm a nice person, but I wasn't very nice these past couple of weeks.  I generally tend to try to not stalk on Facebook.  I try to stick to my friends, BUT people can easily lead my astray.  I'm not saying I'm blameless.  I follow them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Someone messeaged me about a guy I used to date.  So, I went to look him up.  He is in a relationship now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOTE:  I never post anywhere if I'm in a relationship.  Just not my thing.  People keep wanting to hear about it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So there we sit going off about the girl he is dating.  Its just mean, but I can't help myself.  Its like some inner, sixteen year old vicious cheerleader comes out.  We broke up because he has mental problems.  I don't even talk to him anymore, but still.  Just surprised.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Is this another one of those human condition things or do I need to just work on being a nicer person.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-3001626043976469264?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/3001626043976469264/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=3001626043976469264&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3001626043976469264'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3001626043976469264'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/01/im-going-to-go-to-heaven-for-weather.html' title='I&apos;m going to go to heaven for the weather'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1951616041613656198</id><published>2009-01-13T08:18:00.004-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-13T08:42:01.259-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What Have I Gotten Myself Into</title><content type='html'>Backstory:  I am not athletic.  I'm artsy.  That's a known fact.  When I was little, the only game I was good at was TV tag, not because I was fast, but because I watched so much I could name out hundreds of shows in succession without being tagged.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Back in October 2007, I decided to go on a horse back riding vacation.  I started going to the gym a month before in order to prepare for it, and I discovered I was sorely out of shape. Since then, I have worked to try to get to the gym a couple of times a week.  This did not result in me becoming in shape, but at least I have felt better about myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Fast forward to this December, I wrote a list, and on that list, I decided that it was high time I started to like running.  Why?  Because I just don't like it.  I needed to push myself.  So I signed up for running class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last week was the first one. We ran what they call the "miracle mile".  My friend Elizabeth joined up the class too, and we paced ourselves.  We completed the mile in 10:44.  I thought that was pretty good.  Was pleased with myself, but I know she pushed me.  I thought, "this is great, we will be near the top of the worst."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;NOPE, Nooooo.  We show up for class last night to discover that we are no longer in running 101.  We have placed out into running 201.  What's the difference?  There is no walking in 201.  None.  Zilch.  Its an actual running class.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, last night we got started.  I watched the 101 class.  They got to run 4 minutes and walk 1 minute for half an hour.  MY CLASS, we ran for 10 minutes and then walked 1.  My coach had pity on us, but she said that was just because this was the first class.  We would be running in the future.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Surprisingly, I survived.  Not only that, I wasn't really that winded.  We talked the whole run.  It was actually fun.  Running ain't so bad I guess.  Even if I have to pay people to make me do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a bit scared about the rest of the class though.  I think they are going to make us run faster and for 45 minutes.  I'm not to sure about that...&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Honestly, I would rather be the best of the worst then the worst of the best.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1951616041613656198?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1951616041613656198/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1951616041613656198&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1951616041613656198'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1951616041613656198'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/01/what-have-i-gotten-myself-into.html' title='What Have I Gotten Myself Into'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1741441538623575941</id><published>2009-01-08T09:32:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-08T09:53:38.139-06:00</updated><title type='text'>What I'm Listening To</title><content type='html'>I popped open itunes this morning to download a couple of songs.  I have this thing where I listen to the NPR podcast All Songs Considered, and when its over, I download the songs that caught my interest.  And while I'm on itunes, I go and download a bunch of random odd songs.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I looked this morning at some of my topped played songs on my ipod.  Goodness, its eclectic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shake It - Metro Station&lt;br /&gt;Please don't judge.  I dance whenever it comes on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Twist - Frightened Rabbit&lt;br /&gt;I heard this song on a podcast and couldn't get it out of my head.  Very infectious.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Workin Day and Night - Michael Jackson&lt;br /&gt;If you aren't car dancing when this comes on, then you have no soul.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;All Over the World - ELO&lt;br /&gt;I love ELO.  I'm surprised I have played this one the most.  I usually say Mr. Blue Sky is my favorite.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Pot Kettle Black - Tilly and the Wall&lt;br /&gt;Another NPR find.  Fantastic group.  They use tap dancing as percussion.  I discovered them right after they came to town for a show.  Hope they come back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boys Don't Cry - The Cure&lt;br /&gt;The Cure was the second concert I ever went to.  It was at the Summit in Houston.  I was in 8th grade.  I wore all black and a lot of eyeliner and thought I was so cool.  Good memories!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Surrender - Cheap Trick&lt;br /&gt;The song makes no sense.  Have you ever really listened to the lyrics?  But I still love it!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In These Shoes - Kristy MacColl&lt;br /&gt;My friend, John Hagopian, put this song on a mix for me before I moved from Detroit to Dallas.  It was on permanent repeat, and I wore down the cd.  Fantastic song.  Me being a shoe girl, it speaks to me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Liz the Hot Receptionist - Jesus H. Christ and the Four Hornsmen of the Apocolypse&lt;br /&gt;This song just makes me laugh out loud. I see Liz in and around Dallas daily.  This group is almost like an adult version of Seasame Street.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Time to Pretend - MGMT&lt;br /&gt;Found this on NPR too.  Just such a great song. It was the beat that dragged me in, but the words that really stuck.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Never Miss a Beat - Kaiser Chiefs&lt;br /&gt;I love it when you hear a song and the English accents are so thick you can even hear them when they sing.  Just a great beat on this one.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Nothing Better - Postal Service&lt;br /&gt;An oldie but goodie.  I was at my friend Doug's years ago and this was playing on his computer.  I had him burn me the entire cd.  I remember driving home through downtown Dallas listening to it watching the city at night.  This whole cd is great.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1741441538623575941?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1741441538623575941/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1741441538623575941&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1741441538623575941'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1741441538623575941'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/01/what-im-listening-too.html' title='What I&apos;m Listening To'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1935100976728691971</id><published>2009-01-06T14:55:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-06T15:01:37.567-06:00</updated><title type='text'>In a rut</title><content type='html'>Ok, 2009 is going to get better.  I have decided to get out of the rut.  I have bought a notebook, and I'm keeping a list.  There are all these things I say I'm going to do, but I never do.  I complain about Dallas being boring, and yet, I don't do half the stuff there is to do in this town.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here is an just a smidge of what i'm going to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1)  Running class - train to run a 5k.  I signed up and it was supposed to start last night but the store lost power, and it was cancelled.  Someone was listening to my inner most thoughts.  Who wants to run in 35 degree freezing rain??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2)  DMA membership - i got the one with reciprocal benefits, and I already ordered my tickets to TUT.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3)  Volunteer at an animal shelter - lets see if I can actually do this one.  I might chicken out after I try to take home 5 cats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4)  Go to Cafe Marakesh - its down the road from me.  Why haven't I tried it?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5)  Get a security system for my house - that ones for Holly.  She keeps getting at me.  I swear I will do it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6)  Go out with my friend Melanie - i haven't seen her in forever. We need a get together.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the list goes on and on and on.  I have a lot to do, but I've got time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, any other suggestions for food for 2009?  Nothing is sticking out to me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1935100976728691971?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1935100976728691971/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1935100976728691971&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1935100976728691971'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1935100976728691971'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/01/in-rut.html' title='In a rut'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1944268290430073859</id><published>2009-01-02T15:09:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2009-01-02T15:28:28.484-06:00</updated><title type='text'>It can only get better</title><content type='html'>Seriously. How come when you finishe paying off your car, it goes to pot?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, how did I spend the beginning of 2009?  Fixing my car.  And it's still not done.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;December 31st - I leave my house at noon to meet a friend for lunch.  The car does not start.  I call my friend and tell her I have to cancel.  Of course she is at the restaurant.  I feel so bad.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I call AAA.  The truck comes out, we push the car out of the garage, and pop up the hood.  He looks at my battery, and it's completely corroded.  Its really really gross, to put it into technical terms.  We clean it off, and he says I need a new battery.  I decide to have the AAA battery service to come out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The second AAA truck comes out, he looks at the battery and says its not dead, but my connection is broken.  The corrosion has eaten through the line.  The new battery won't fix it.  I need to take it in.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At this time, its late, no one is really open.  I don't want to deal with it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;New Year's happens.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;January 1 - I rest&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;January 2 - I call AAA for a jump to get to the Firestone.  I get there.  They look at the battery and the lines.  The pretty much tell me they don't have the part.  They called the dealership to see if they will sell the part.  They won't.  They only sell a whole rewiring package, and it's $800.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;WHAT!!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Firestone gives me the name and number of an electrical specialist in Plano.  We jump my car, and I decide to take the backroads up north.  I am right at the intersection of Greenville and Plano road, and my car breaks down.  I call AAA.  While waiting for the tow I discover where Owen's country sausage is made.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I get towed to the electric place.  We drop off the car.  My sweet friend Jen comes and picks me up.  I owe her!!  We do lunch.  I get home.  And I realize.  I still have my car keys.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'M A GENIUS.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I call them, and they agree.  I need to bring the keys back.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;SOOOOO, I call and beg Elizabeth's mom to help me.  Thank God for good caring people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, now, I'm home.  With a broken car.  I'm just done.  DONE.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2009 can only get better RIGHT??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1944268290430073859?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1944268290430073859/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1944268290430073859&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1944268290430073859'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1944268290430073859'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2009/01/it-can-only-get-better.html' title='It can only get better'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-8056170276180229241</id><published>2008-12-27T14:29:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-27T14:38:51.964-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A delicious bacon mistake</title><content type='html'>Its Christmas day.  I have the lamb on the counter covered in olive oil, rosemary and thyme.  I decide its time to make the green beans and bacon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Everything starts out fine.  I half cook up the bacon.  I get the green beans together and wrap them in the bacon and put them in the metal pan.  And then off to the side I make the marinade.  Butter, brown sugar, worcestershire, and some soy.  I proceed to pour it over the bacon and green beans, and then I notice the big brown smudge on the stove.  The marinde was seeping out of the pan.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I immediately react.  I put the pan with the bacon on top of the cooling pan of bacon grease.  The marinade continues to drip into the bacon fat as I clean up the stove.  I pull out another pan, and get the green been bundles into it.  I check first that it has no holes.  It doesn't.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I then turn to my marinade.  I just decide to bite the bullet and pour the marinade and bacon fat onto the bundles.  I put them in the fridge for three hours.  I then bake them up in the over for 20 minutes at 350.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And what comes out is complete nirvana.  OMG.  Too damn good!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-8056170276180229241?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/8056170276180229241/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=8056170276180229241&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8056170276180229241'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8056170276180229241'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/delicious-bacon-mistake.html' title='A delicious bacon mistake'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2133453773406040725</id><published>2008-12-23T14:27:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-23T14:40:03.426-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm a nerd</title><content type='html'>We were laughing so hard today at the office.  Seriously over mortality table jokes.  I kid you not.  I was talking about this one soon to be ex client who is not very nice to me, and I just let it go by and am very sweet to him.  No reason to be not nice.  He is the one with the problem.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My bosses response "Well, we all die in the long run.  No point in being mean while your alive.  Gets you no where in the long run."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;To which a coworker responded "We all have a seat at the mortality table."  And we laughed and laughed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sad, its just sad.  You can tell I work with a bunch of math people.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Family comes in tonight and they get to find for themselves around my house. I don't start officially entertaining them until tomorrow.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2133453773406040725?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2133453773406040725/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2133453773406040725&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2133453773406040725'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2133453773406040725'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/im-nerd.html' title='I&apos;m a nerd'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1849187106215515495</id><published>2008-12-21T13:07:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-21T13:22:06.993-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Two extremes</title><content type='html'>Friday.  It took my a couple of days, but I finally got my stomach ready for Friday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;First off, I had my work groups lunch.  My boss had decided to have us do something fun and picked Cowboy Chow in Deep Ellum.  My real problem with Deep Ellum is that there are always twists and turns to get there, and you have to find parking.  I luckily can find my way around, but I ended up navigating most of the rest of the group.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cowboy Chow.  In a nutshell, good, but not spectacular.  There is an awful lot of chopped brisket around.  They had these chips covered in a cheesy sauce for appetizers, and then a bunch of taco and sandwhiches for main courses.  The only dessert was cookies.  And they don't have their liquor license yet.  So, we BYOB'ed it.  It was a fun place for a get together, but I don't know if I will deal with Deep Ellum for it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I say all that about how Deep Ellum annoys me, and then I go back there for dinner.  Local.  It was a final friends dinner before Christmas.  IT WAS SO GOOD.  Its always good there.  I went a bit different this time.  I got the champagne cocktail with the little dollops of grapefruit sorbet in it.  And then the appetizers began.  They brought fried green beans, butternut squash soup, crab cakes, and pumpkin ravioli.  I eventually ate it all.  Oh, it was good&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Soup was just what I needed.  All warm and creamy.  I think that was my favorite.  I've become a bit of a soupaholic lately.  Hits the spot on cold days!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overall a good food day, but a bit much.  My poor tummy was groaning a bit.  I slowed down on Saturday and took it easy.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1849187106215515495?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1849187106215515495/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1849187106215515495&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1849187106215515495'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1849187106215515495'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/two-extremes.html' title='Two extremes'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-3498563797380704009</id><published>2008-12-19T11:59:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-19T12:04:04.045-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Back on track</title><content type='html'>Ok, I have to say, anyone who reads my blog because of food related reasons, I will have something good for you tomorrow.  In anticipation of a couple of reservations I have today, I stayed home the last couple of nights and really recouped and helped my stomach get back to fighting form.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In other news, the family is in town next week, and I'm cooking.  So far, I only have three parts of the menu down:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;deviled eggs&lt;br /&gt;leg of lamb&lt;br /&gt;mince meat pies&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I probably should think of sides or other appetizers.  Knowing me the other appetizeres will be cream cheese and that rasberry chipotle sauce with crackers, and sides will be roasted veggies and a corn cassarole.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have a weekend to get my life in order and actually buy Christmas gifts and such.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How did I get so far behind??&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-3498563797380704009?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/3498563797380704009/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=3498563797380704009&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3498563797380704009'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3498563797380704009'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/back-on-track.html' title='Back on track'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6786462234945855853</id><published>2008-12-18T12:17:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-18T12:24:57.128-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Be careful what you wish for</title><content type='html'>I seriously was complaining about how I needed to lose five pounds.  Stomach flu/food poisoning worked the trick, but man it was a tough ride.  I should have leart my lesson earlier in the year.  I requested that I find a man who worshipped me. Yeah, I got that too.  Being texted constantly and stalked gets a bit scary after a while.  I dropped that idea.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, I just want a guy who likes me.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, in the ongoing tummy chrisis, I have fallen under flu like syptoms a couple of times, especially near bed time, which have resulted in some weird dreams.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night, I dreamed that I was back in college crying to my tennis teacher about how I can't believe he gave me a C.  Now, this is a true story.  I did cry when I went to discuss my grade with my tennis teacher.  He was grading on ability, and I was very upset.  I am not athletic and forced to take the class. I have no ability.  He should have graded on improvement.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But anyway, I  digress.  So, I was crying to my tennis teacher, but he turned out to be James Earl Jones, who kept talking back to me like Darth Vadar.  Just not very nice at all.  And it made me cry harder.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I ran out of the gym, which in my dream was his private jet airplane, and wept my way across the tarmac.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What exactly does this mean???&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6786462234945855853?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6786462234945855853/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6786462234945855853&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6786462234945855853'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6786462234945855853'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/be-careful-what-you-wish-for.html' title='Be careful what you wish for'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-8869600595523841926</id><published>2008-12-16T21:05:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-16T21:14:59.865-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Prolonged Absence</title><content type='html'>Oh dear.  So much to write about.  But unfortunately, my tummy has decided to hate me.  I woke up at 2 am and in the back of my brain I knew that something was wrong.  I tossed and turned for a little bit, and then by 3 am I literally had to sprint out of bed into the bathroom, and stayed there for hours.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called in sick.  I never call in sick.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Of course, I turned on the computer and worked from bed when I could.  Eventually I turned off the computer and took what my mom calls "a nice long nap".  Penny and I just curled up and felt sorry for ourselves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;By 5 I was semi human, I called mom and requested some sympathy.  She happily gave me some.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sooo, enough complaining.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Things that have made me happy in the last week:&lt;br /&gt;Watching the sunset at the Phoenix airport.  I started taking pictures by the windown and had two people join me.  I sat down and the woman behind me commented that the sunset was the reason she lived in Phoenix.  I kind of get it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Taking off to Seattle and spending the weekend with Kristine.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Dinner at Black Bottle last Friday night.  Especially the pork belly and kim chi tapas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Deep fried cheese curds at Steelhead diner.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Obtaining a copy of the New Moon and devoring it on the plane back to Dallas.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, I shouldn't have mentioned food.  But food is my life.  Victoria with a bad tummy is like a day without sunshine.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-8869600595523841926?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/8869600595523841926/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=8869600595523841926&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8869600595523841926'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8869600595523841926'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/prolonged-absence.html' title='Prolonged Absence'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-7899076173448268742</id><published>2008-12-09T14:15:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-09T14:29:48.594-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm one of the suckers</title><content type='html'>I admit it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I sit here at my desk at work wearing my new poncho.  I bought it this weekend.  I have received many many comments about it.  Mostly, people have been commenting on how they had one like it 20 years ago.  My boss said I was "rockin" it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yeah.  I went to a craft show Sunday and was walking around buying cute purses and stuff when I spied a table full of afghans.  Being an afghan guru myself, I walked over.  It was a senior center selling their wares.  All the money collected would go towards buying more supplies for their crafting group.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This one sweet woman showed me an afghan she had made, and then she said "I make ponchos too".  And then she opened the box.  Oh, they were fantastic.  All these different slightly psychodelic colors.  She admitted to being slightly myopic and color blind.  I thought that made them all the better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I bought one.  My friend Sheri just looked at me like I was kinda crazy.  Mine is different shades of blue and has tons of fringe.  I love it!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm rockin the poncho today and will be doing it most of the winter.  Look out for me!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-7899076173448268742?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/7899076173448268742/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=7899076173448268742&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7899076173448268742'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7899076173448268742'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/im-one-of-suckers.html' title='I&apos;m one of the suckers'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-7073074455689631311</id><published>2008-12-08T09:39:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-08T10:17:07.912-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Caravelle Christmas</title><content type='html'>Every year Adam throughs a shin dig at his favorite Chinese restaurant, Caravelle.  We get two big tables, bring bad gifts, wear silly hats, and just sit there and have the food come to us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This year, we started out with fresh shrimp spring rolls and corn and crab soup.  Hmm.  I only had one spring roll.  I didn't want to fill up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then came the parade of food:&lt;br /&gt;Lemongrass tofu&lt;br /&gt;Chicken and green beans&lt;br /&gt;Crispy salted shrimp (with heads YAY!!)&lt;br /&gt;Orange chicken&lt;br /&gt;Beef with pan fried noodles&lt;br /&gt;Peking duck&lt;br /&gt;etc&lt;br /&gt;etc &lt;br /&gt;etc&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then came time for presents.  I got mine last December.  My sister gave me what she thought was a perfect present, a frog in the lotus position.  I'm not sure what about it was screaming Victoria.  I kept it for a year in order to have a gift for Caravelle this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;If you can believe, it was opened and people actually liked it.  And it got stolen twice.  In the end, Adam's dad ended up with it.  He though it was great.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I stole a reed diffuser that was supposed to smell like cedar, it smelled awful.  Ryan described it as smelling like urine cake.  Ewwww. At least I didn't get the vintage bee honey dispenser.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overall good night&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-7073074455689631311?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/7073074455689631311/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=7073074455689631311&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7073074455689631311'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7073074455689631311'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/caravelle-christmas.html' title='Caravelle Christmas'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2545071211287264389</id><published>2008-12-05T08:53:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-05T09:04:05.270-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Social networking sites</title><content type='html'>Ok, lets all be honest and name the sites where you have a profile.  I will go first:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Myspace&lt;br /&gt;Facebook&lt;br /&gt;Tribe&lt;br /&gt;Ning&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I have a livejournal floating out there somewhere, maybe.  I'm sure I have more.  I'm sure someone will remind me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I don't know what it is, but how come "networking" sites somehow have the ability to turn into "highschool drama" sites?  I'm not judging.  I myself am the 14 year old who sped read her way through Twilight last week.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Why do we put ourselves through this.  I know. It's all in the name to re-connect with high school friends we haven't talked to in 15 years.  Seriously, if we were that close 15 years ago, wouldn't we still be talking??  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday, someone deleted my comment. When I opened my profile this morning to check a comment some things, I saw it was gone.  I was in shock.  Why would anyone delete a comment where I beg them to vote for the SPCA?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(Um, psst, if you have a minute can you vote for the SPCA so they can win some money http://www.care2.com/animalsheltercontest/74289/?refer=19400.07.1228320189.8495)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I immediately try to remember what I wrote.  I then email them to apologize and see what happened.  I am told their site is professional, and they were cleaning it up.  If I noticed something like that it must mean, I have too much time on my hands.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think I open a pot of something, and being the girl who can't handle drama because it gives her ulcers, I'm gonna put the lid back on.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hmmm, not so sure about social networking sites.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2545071211287264389?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2545071211287264389/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2545071211287264389&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2545071211287264389'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2545071211287264389'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/social-networking-sites.html' title='Social networking sites'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-120473010838323395</id><published>2008-12-04T12:25:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-04T12:31:35.505-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Mint</title><content type='html'>Last night I met with Elizabeth for dinner.  I hadn't seen her in forever.  She asked what I was craving, and I said comfort food.  Just an FYI, in my world, comfort food is Thai food.  Don't know why, but that's what fills me up and makes me happy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, we decided to meet up at Mint, at Forest and 75.  This is an easy go to place for us.  Its not far from home and it has noodles and rice dishes that are yummy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started out with one of their far out sushi rolls for an appetizer.  It was this yellow tail roll on acid.  I forgot the name.  It was yellow tail, jalapeno, and cream cheese rolled up and quickly tempurad, and then it had sirachai chili sauce and the mayo sauce squiggled on it.  It was tasty.  I did have a slight issue with how thick the tempura was.  They could lighten up on that a wee bit.  But otherwise, it hit the spot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I got the yellow curry rice with chicken, and I had them add tomatoes.  I love thai rice and the chunks of tomatoes.  The plate came out and it was ENORMOUS.  I think I got through about half of it.  It was delicious.  Nice bit chunks of chicken and the rice was not too spicy.  It was warm and it filled me up.  Thank god, since over dinner the temperature outside dropped by 20 degrees, and me with no coat.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, Elizabeth got pad thai, no sen.  She loves how they have choices with that, and she is not a big carb eater.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know some people scoff that Mint isn't very authentic.  I personally go for the dishes that make me happy.  And obviously, I'm not alone.  The place was packed for a Wednesday night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Good meal!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-120473010838323395?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/120473010838323395/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=120473010838323395&amp;isPopup=true' title='6 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/120473010838323395'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/120473010838323395'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/mint.html' title='The Mint'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>6</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-872454082616625483</id><published>2008-12-03T15:11:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-03T15:23:39.396-06:00</updated><title type='text'>A little spot</title><content type='html'>I have one.  On the tip of my tongue.  Its like a taste bud that has gotten infected or something.  I don't know what it is but ITS KILLING ME!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have spent the last two days subconciously playing with it.  I believe it got it from the 1 pound bag of sour patch kids I inhaled over the weekend. Those things are evil.  I should just not have them in my house or my life in general.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I used to get them as a child. My mom's cure was to have me wash out my mouth with salt water.  Oh it was awful.  Awful.  And it didn't help.  I swear she just made that up to make me stop eating candy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So here I sit with my spot that appears now to be getting bigger since I keep playing with it.  I guess that is the human condition.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-872454082616625483?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/872454082616625483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=872454082616625483&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/872454082616625483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/872454082616625483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/little-spot.html' title='A little spot'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-4108238163492973789</id><published>2008-12-01T10:34:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-12-01T10:48:06.618-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Thanksgiving in a nutshell</title><content type='html'>November 25th&lt;br /&gt;Run away from work at 4 and get on the road down to Houston.  Drive like a demon through the Texas countryside and arrive in Katy, TX by 8:30.  Not too shabby!  That's even with the Conroe traffic.  I only used the lords name in vain 3 times on that stretch of road.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Get greeted by my mother on the doorstep and walk inside to find my brother from Sweden and his lady.  Stay up late catching up and eating cheese and pickle sandwhiches.  Nothing better then sharp cheddar, kosher dills, and old fashioned mustard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 26th&lt;br /&gt;Sleep in. Do nothing. Get a pedicure.  Go to and Indian dinner and see Happy Go Lucky.  What a great film!  I love Mike Leigh.  Stop really late by Walmart and pick up a copy of Twilight. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Side story - my friend Rhonda is a high school drama teacher.  Her kids are addicted to this book, and she brought it to the llama farm to read so she could relate with them.  I picked up and could not put it down.  My craving for it for so bad I bought my own copy in Houston.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Proceed to get back into reading Twilight and stay up overly, overly late.  My love for pre-teen literature knows no bounds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 27th&lt;br /&gt;Sleep in.  Get on the couch at around 10 am and proceed to watch the Macy's parade and read Twilight.  Stay sitting on the couch through the Purina dog show.  Finally, pick myself up and put on a dress for lunch.  Go to lunch buffet, huffing the whole time.  Thanksgiving is not supposed to be a go out for buffet kind of holiday for me.  I prefer to home cook, but oh well.  Mom didn't want to this year.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spy an eight year old at the table next to us reading my book.  Ask her how she likes it.  Proceed to have a ten minute conversation with an 8 year old at a Thanksgiving buffet about the teenage, vampire, romance novel we are both reading.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She said the movie was not as good.  Hmmm, I still think I'm going to go see it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Go home and take a 4 hour nap.  Stay up late reading and talking to my brother about how we have addictive personalities.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 28th&lt;br /&gt;Discover that my mother had gotten a free ham and turkey from the super market.  She didn't want to cook for Thanksgiving so she froze them.  Proceed to watch mother defrost said Turkey and Ham and cook them.  Think to myself "why did we go to the buffet?"  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Shake my head, go shopping for HOURS, come home, nap, and then meet up with good, old Claire.  CLAIRE.  I love her.  She is officially so tired of being hounded by men, she is now wearing lesbian paraphenalia.  She has a ring and a bracelet.  I don't think many lesbians would be happy about that seeing as she is a stone, cold heterosexual female.  I suggested she just get a fake wedding ring.  She said men would find that more attractive and a challenge.  I thought men would find the lesbian stuff attractive and a challenge too, but she disagreed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;November 29th&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Wake up at a decent time, pack, load up the car with new clothes and a ton of food my mom cooked on FRIDAY (????) and drive home.  Arive at said home which smelled like something had just died.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Spend hours cleaning out fridge, throwing out trash, and spraying lysol.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Sleep.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-4108238163492973789?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/4108238163492973789/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=4108238163492973789&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4108238163492973789'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4108238163492973789'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/12/thanksgiving-in-nutshell.html' title='Thanksgiving in a nutshell'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2775056230767626082</id><published>2008-11-26T23:16:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T23:29:11.719-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Toco, Tx</title><content type='html'>Ok, I just re-read some of my entries.  Man, am I the world's worst speller/user of wrong words.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, last weekend when I was driving to Paris and cruising along 82, I passed through a familiar little town, Toco.  For the first time, I looked at the population listed on the sign.  98???&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A bit further down the road I realized I had forgotten to bring wine for the weekend.  I knew that most small towns in Texas are dry.  Paris isn't small, but you never know.  I was about 2 minutes into Toco when I saw a little shop coming up on my left.  I thought at least I can stop in there and get some coke or a snack for the weekend.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Just as I was pulling in I saw the signs all over the place listing "liquor, beer, wine".  And I realized exactly what Toco, Tx was.  The liquor town.  As in the case in Texas, dry areas will often have a very, very small town incorporate itself in order to sell liquor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This was Toco, Tx.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ran inside and picked up two cheap screw top bottles of Austrailian shiraz and stood in line.  The woman behind me was holding about 4 cases of beer.  I guess my eyes got pretty big.  She said "I live in Oklahoma and this is the closest liquor store".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then I looked all around me.  Everyone was loaded up with cases and cases of beer and liquor.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm thinking all 98 residents of Toco probably do pretty well for themselves.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2775056230767626082?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2775056230767626082/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2775056230767626082&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2775056230767626082'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2775056230767626082'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/toco-tx.html' title='Toco, Tx'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-4008184006748797356</id><published>2008-11-26T00:40:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-26T00:43:51.304-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Coming home</title><content type='html'>I don't know what it is, but coming home to my mom brings me so much joy.  I can't contain it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Years ago when I live in Detroit, I would get excited about visiting Houston. I knew the minute I stepped off the plane, mom would be there to greet me, English accent and an awaiting hug. Its home.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today was four hours on the rode.  And I pulled into the driveway and she was outside the house waving.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We might have our issues and our differences, but I wouldn't ever give up her hug hello. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Home isn't necessarily the house you go to.  For me, its the arms that hold you!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-4008184006748797356?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/4008184006748797356/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=4008184006748797356&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4008184006748797356'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/4008184006748797356'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/coming-home.html' title='Coming home'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-7304467767582777483</id><published>2008-11-25T09:44:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-25T10:13:26.888-06:00</updated><title type='text'>This thing they call cable</title><content type='html'>Back in October, I thought it was time I became an adult.  After a four year hiatus, I decided to get cable.  I called up AT&amp;T and requested their Uverse package.  We scheduled the soonest appointment they could for installation, 5 weeks.  I was a little shocked by this, but honestly, I haven't had cable in 4 years.  What difference is five weeks?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday I worked for home and sat around while the cable guy crawled all over my house and attic, sending wires this way and that, getting me all set up.  It was very intriguing, but I tried to stay out of his way.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And then, by noon, I was hooked up, and he began the tutorial.  We walked through all the channels and my remote.  Then we discussed the DVR.  OMG.  Its amazing.  I've never seen anything like it.  You can search for an actor.  For fun, I looked up Harrison Ford.  It brought up that Blade Runner was playing later on that day. WOW!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spent the rest of the day working on my couch with the TV on in the background.  BBC America was where I spent most of the afternoon.  They have that show with the two women who clean people's houses.  Have you seen how dirty those houses are?  I can't believe it.  And the blond woman is just so sauce and British.  Then they showed Gordon Ramsey's Kitchen Nightmares.  I love me some Gordon Ramsey.  One day I will eat with him in London.  One day.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then, I spent the evening, after a lovely catch up dinner at Shinsei with Jane, watching hours upon hours of The Real Housewives.  I can't believe women like that exist.  Can't believe it.  And, they put themselves on TV.  I couldn't turn it off.  It was like a car accident I couldn't stop watching.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Eventually by eleven my eyes were hurting.  I wanted to stay up and watch more housewives, but I just couldn't do it.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I swear, this will not be permanent.  I will leave the house.  Promise.  Just give me a couple of weeks...&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-7304467767582777483?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/7304467767582777483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=7304467767582777483&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7304467767582777483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7304467767582777483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/this-thing-they-call-cable.html' title='This thing they call cable'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2796130596739856370</id><published>2008-11-24T21:53:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-24T22:08:17.787-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I think I'm going to be an author</title><content type='html'>This weekend I ran away for a day to my friend's family farm.  Mostly we just laze around all day and get up to eat and feed the llamas.  Its really very relaxing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I forgot to bring a book.  So, I asked around to see what people brought.  Jennifer brought out her selection of paperbacks.  I just looked at them.  And looked at her.  I picked one up and read the back of it.  I looked at her and said "is this what I think it is."  She shook her head yes.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Seriously, is this a Scottish, vampire, romance, Christmas novel?"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;"Yes" she said laughing.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well,when one is presented with a Scottish, vampire, romance, Christmas novel they just have to read it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Lets just say I now thoroughly believe anyone can get published.  This book didn't even have naughty bits.  The only thing that made it fun was when I read passages aloud in my Scottish accent.  By the way, I have a very good Scottish accent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Seriously, I can make lazing around under afghans in the cold weather reading bad literature (if you can call it that) fun.  Just give me a bottle of wine and a romance novel full of scotts and kilts.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2796130596739856370?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2796130596739856370/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2796130596739856370&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2796130596739856370'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2796130596739856370'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/i-think-im-going-to-be-author.html' title='I think I&apos;m going to be an author'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1347299586131067614</id><published>2008-11-21T09:28:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-21T09:36:58.753-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Little Sweety</title><content type='html'>I invited myself to Julie's last night to meet the puppy.  The woman has walking pneumonia, but Jesse was over.  I thought I deserved to see the puppy, walking pneumonia or not.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh what a sweet little boy he is.  He slept on my lap for about 2 minutes.  He is gray with black spots and one eye is blue and one eye is brown. And his tail curls up at the end.  Still no name yet.  So we just call him puppy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It got me thinking about puppies and babies in general.  I know that they are cute on purpose.  Its supposed to help the mother bond with them more.  Honestly, baby anythings are adorable.  Kittens, bears, orcas. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But every once in a while I will see a human baby and just be like "oh dear".  Seriously.  But the mother thinks its the most beautiful thing on earth.  I love that.  I never know what to say in those situations.  So I just say "oh, its a baby".  Now I gave my ugly baby secret away. Don't tell!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1347299586131067614?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1347299586131067614/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1347299586131067614&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1347299586131067614'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1347299586131067614'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/little-sweety.html' title='Little Sweety'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5303863794697303771</id><published>2008-11-20T07:43:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-20T08:03:03.174-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My morning routine</title><content type='html'>The alarm went off at 5:30 am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I pressed snooz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The cat jumped on the bed and tried to wake me up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I buried myself under the duvet and hid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The alarm went off again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I snaked my hand out from under the duvet and pressed snooz.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I had a good mini dream about Gerard Butler.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The alarm went off again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I actually get up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I zombie walk down the dark hallway to the kitchen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I trip over the cat four times in my attempt to get her kitty treats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I zombie walk down the hallway to the bathroom, turn on the light, and look in the mirror.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I roll my eyes at the bad bed hair and bags under the eyes in the face that greets me.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I spend half an hour trying to transform myself into a human being.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I eventually give up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I suit up.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I wander in the light of dusk down to the kitchen, open the freezerm and peruse through the frozen wasteland to see what I might be able to defrost by lunch time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I give the cat a hug.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I clomp out the door, breakfast in one hand, brief case in the other and mutter to myself "time to make the donuts".&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It's been a long week!!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5303863794697303771?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5303863794697303771/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5303863794697303771&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5303863794697303771'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5303863794697303771'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-morning-routine.html' title='My morning routine'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-8246368314310220773</id><published>2008-11-19T14:52:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-19T14:58:35.585-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Enough dogs</title><content type='html'>I think people are seriously putting me on email block lists at this very moment.  It has been requested that I send no more pictures of dogs needing a home.  So, I will stop doing it on the blog too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What to talk about??&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hmmm&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm on a budget.  I've put myself on it.  I really looked at my credit card bills, and I was shocked at my spending.  I spent $70 here, there, and everwhere.  Ok, alot of it is on sushi.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I realized that a girl does have to eat, but she does not have to live off of raw fish.  So, I put myself on a sushi budget.  How sad is that?  I can't eat it as often, and I can't eat as much as I was.  My addiction to yellowtail and spicy tuna has got to stop.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One half of my brain is thinking of creative meals that I can cook for myself at home.  The other half of my brain is scheming to figure out how I can get someone to buy the sushi for me, a sushi sugar daddy, so to speak.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-8246368314310220773?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/8246368314310220773/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=8246368314310220773&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8246368314310220773'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/8246368314310220773'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/enough-dogs.html' title='Enough dogs'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-3834180116799388113</id><published>2008-11-18T15:51:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-18T15:59:08.852-06:00</updated><title type='text'>My next victim</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SSM5TbQR5-I/AAAAAAAAAC4/mqe9DoJoU_w/s1600-h/Cormac3.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SSM5TbQR5-I/AAAAAAAAAC4/mqe9DoJoU_w/s320/Cormac3.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5270118994849949666" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, have I introduced everyone to Cormac?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Cormac is in a bit of a bind.  His mommy just left his daddy.  Its a very messy messy situation.  We won't go into details.  Daddy has his hands full with a 2 year old and isn't really able to handle him, a stressfull job, and this sweet doggy.  Therefore, I was contacted to see if I knew anyone looking for a dog.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've decided that since I can't really be a good doggy mommy, I would instead because a good doggy godmother.  (Just ask Julie and SPOT)&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Come on.  Look at sweet Cormac.  He is fixed and all trained.  He went to a fancy training school in Highland Park.  He likes long walks and snuggling(ok now this sounds like a personal add).  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But you know, I was just complaining at work.  I date men and that ain't no fun, but I honestly don't know how guys date chicks either.  We are impossible.  My solution, everyone get a dog.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-3834180116799388113?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/3834180116799388113/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=3834180116799388113&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3834180116799388113'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3834180116799388113'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/my-next-victim.html' title='My next victim'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SSM5TbQR5-I/AAAAAAAAAC4/mqe9DoJoU_w/s72-c/Cormac3.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-413606164063425483</id><published>2008-11-17T10:51:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-17T11:01:00.054-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Lovely lovely</title><content type='html'>I don't think that word is used enough.  Lovely. I really like it.  I also like to use the word delicious and not have it refer to food.  "Oh, that's a delicious idea."  Just makes everything sound a bit decadent.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, this weekend was lovely.  Friday night I acted half my age and went to see a show at House of Blues, Of Montreal, it was fantastic.  Honestly, for $20, completely worth every penny.  I've spent $50 on shows that didn't hold my attention half as much.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Each member of the band played more then one instrument, to the point that at some times in the concert there were two drummers or two bassists or 4 guitars.  At the same time, throughout the show, there was a group of about 5-6 extra people who kept putting on little shows.  Seriously, the lead singer came out in a gold lame liter carried by five golden buddhas who danced through the first song.  I highly suggest this show to anyone if they come back.  Just ignore the Outback Steakhouse song.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Saturday was spent visiting Cindi at the Lake.  This time of year is my absolute favorite.  Sitting outside near the fire pit with a warm cup of cider looking at the stars.  Couldn't get any better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;AND, Julie is adopting one of the puppies.  SPOT.  YAY!!!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its like the stars are aligning.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-413606164063425483?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/413606164063425483/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=413606164063425483&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/413606164063425483'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/413606164063425483'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/lovely-lovely.html' title='Lovely lovely'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-690680091893838016</id><published>2008-11-14T15:20:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-14T15:29:09.805-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Responsibility</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SR3r8dRcH7I/AAAAAAAAACw/vsS7h5Bbkbc/s1600-h/Spot%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SR3r8dRcH7I/AAAAAAAAACw/vsS7h5Bbkbc/s320/Spot%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268626562975801266" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SR3r26mSosI/AAAAAAAAACo/-b6Ej8kASGs/s1600-h/Sleepy%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SR3r26mSosI/AAAAAAAAACo/-b6Ej8kASGs/s320/Sleepy%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5268626467768672962" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;See these puppies, they need homes.  Right now their names are Sleepy and Spot, but you could name them whatever you want.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know your thinking, "I don't need a dog.  That is too much responsibility."  I agree, hence why I'm writing this blog.  A cat is about all I can take with my work schedule and intense need to see people and eat out.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do get a bit judgemental of people sometimes. I have friends who have the sweetest dog who is treated like a king, when the parents are in town.  They are constantly working and traveling.  And when that happens, the pup is taken off to the puppy day care and the kennel.  How is that exactly having a pet?  You travel and work all the time so you can see your dog on the weekends?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ok, I will stop.  But don't even get me started on people who give away their dogs and cats because they are pregant, having a new baby, or moving in with a new person.  I just think that's awful!!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-690680091893838016?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/690680091893838016/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=690680091893838016&amp;isPopup=true' title='4 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/690680091893838016'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/690680091893838016'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/responsibility.html' title='Responsibility'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SR3r8dRcH7I/AAAAAAAAACw/vsS7h5Bbkbc/s72-c/Spot%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>4</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6600715626443568747</id><published>2008-11-13T12:16:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-13T12:33:51.096-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Love</title><content type='html'>I've been discussing this word a lot lately.  It scares the heck out of me.  So much power in one word.  Do you think people realize the power?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Love is reckless; not reason.&lt;br /&gt;Reason seeks a profit.&lt;br /&gt;Love comes on strong,&lt;br /&gt;consuming herself, unabashed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yet, in the midst of suffering,&lt;br /&gt;Love proceeds like a millstone,&lt;br /&gt;hard surfaced and straightforward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Having died of self-interest,&lt;br /&gt;she risks everything and asks for nothing.&lt;br /&gt;Love gambles away every gift God bestows.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Without cause God gave us Being;&lt;br /&gt;without cause, give it back again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Rumi&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6600715626443568747?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6600715626443568747/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6600715626443568747&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6600715626443568747'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6600715626443568747'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/love.html' title='Love'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1159771566829611905</id><published>2008-11-12T09:26:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T11:12:48.349-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Victor Tango</title><content type='html'>Ok, I tried to post a picture, but it doesn't seem to be loading.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, last night I met Shandi and Elizabeth for drinks.  Its kind of hard to get Shandi out of the house as she has two kids under the age of four, but she vowed that once a month she would meet us for a night of strong drinks.  Last night was the night.  We had two hours since Shandi wanted to be home in time to read books before bed time.  So, I picked a new place closish to her house, Victor Tango.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I hadn't really heard much about the spot.  Its situated at 75 and Henderson, right where Sense used to be.  I walked in expecting the lounge of Sense and was a bit shocked.  They had gutted the place.  I think the bar is about the only same thing.  Otherwise, its full of nice big booths and tables.  I'm a booth lover.  So, we quickly snatched one up.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The big thing at Victor Tango is the drinks and the food are fresh.  You expect that of the food, its a bonus when the drinks are treated the same.  All juices are squeezed fresh.  I had the blackberry gimlet and it was tasty.  I think I also had something called the French 75 with fresh lemon juice.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And the food was good.  We had the ahi tuna naches, the fried green beans, and the chicken and waffles (my pick)  We devored the whole table full.  The fried green beans were tempura flash fried.  Not to put down the state fair or anything, but the ones at Victor Tango were a wee bit better, and came with a really good wasabi dipping sauce.  I asked for extra.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The chicken and waffles were rich a departure for me, but I thought I would give them a try.  Delicious.  The fried chicken wasn't too greasy and they gave us extra maple syrup for dipping!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Overall, good night.  Good place.  We will be back.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1159771566829611905?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1159771566829611905/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1159771566829611905&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1159771566829611905'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1159771566829611905'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/victor-tango.html' title='Victor Tango'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2973020625956050683</id><published>2008-11-11T14:02:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-11T15:02:19.598-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Sometimes I'm Too Honest</title><content type='html'>I was recently having a discussion with a friend where I was telling them my thoughts on their mental state.  I have to admit at the time I was having this discussion, I had quite a few margaritas in me.  I'm not sure why, but margaritas cause me to believe I am incredibly intelligent and knowledgable.  Yeah, not so much.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I decided I needed to evaluate him psychologically.  I believe I told him that he is so unhappy with his life, he becomes self destructive.  He does bad things to make him feel like he is living.  That's not good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I said I understood where he was coming from on this. I sometimes get like this.  I am slightly self destructive.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He just looked at me incredulously and said "You?  You're self destructive? What self destructive thing have you done."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at him honestly over the rim of my tequila filled glass and said "I dated you!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm horrible&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2973020625956050683?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2973020625956050683/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2973020625956050683&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2973020625956050683'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2973020625956050683'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/sometimes-im-too-honest.html' title='Sometimes I&apos;m Too Honest'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-5664669796801515090</id><published>2008-11-10T12:44:00.003-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-10T12:52:28.133-06:00</updated><title type='text'>The Bounce House</title><content type='html'>You know what everyone should do once?  Rent a bounc house.  It's really not that expensive, but it brings so much joy to everyone's lives.  Seriously.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I ordered mine last Tuesday.  I went online and picked out the one I wanted, the red castle.  I really wanted the pink castle, but I realized I was going to have a decent number of boys over.  So, I went for the red castle.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The guys came over at 5 on Friday and had it rolled out and set up in the backyard in under 10 minutes.  Seriously, it was inflated and going lickity split.  So, I took advantage.  I probably jumped for about 5 minues before I became so completely winded and took a knee.  Man, that's a cardiovascular workout.  See, bounce houses have so many benefits.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The only thing I really had to sign off on was that no silly string would enter the bounce house.  That was easy enough to sign off on.  I don't think any silly string has been in my presence for about 12 years.  Does anyone over the age of 15 really use that stuff anymore?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People came over and I had it going throughout the night.  I was a bit afraid that chili and a bounce house would not mix, but it was all good.  Honestly, I think that one day when I am frivolous and have a lot of money, I'm buying one for my backyard, that and a hot tub.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-5664669796801515090?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/5664669796801515090/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=5664669796801515090&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5664669796801515090'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/5664669796801515090'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/bounce-house.html' title='The Bounce House'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-7391539598990877200</id><published>2008-11-08T15:42:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-08T15:46:03.971-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Jalapeno issues</title><content type='html'>Would you like to know how much I love my friends?  Let me tell you.  I made two pots of chili for them.  That is actually no big deal, BUT in order to make both of these pots of chili I cut up 6 jalapenos.  For the record, I can't stand jalapenos.  All my cheese fries come loaded, but with jalapenos on the side.  That used to be so that Kristine could eat them.  Unfortunately, Kristine is gone and the jalapenos sit there so lonely.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I cut up all these jalapenos and then discovered the taste and smell don't leave your hands, FOR DAYS.  I'm not even going to go into the hell I realized in the shower.  It took me about 20 minutes to be able to see properly again, and that was the least affected part.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Renu from work cooks with them a lot and suggested I put some olive oil on my hands to tamp out the burn.  You know what I got?  Very supple hands and fingers that still taste and smell like molton FIRE!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I love you guys, but no more jalapenos.  I'm stickin to lasagna.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-7391539598990877200?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/7391539598990877200/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=7391539598990877200&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7391539598990877200'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/7391539598990877200'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/jalapeno-issues.html' title='Jalapeno issues'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1051530534617430281</id><published>2008-11-07T08:35:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-07T08:43:28.388-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Aquarius</title><content type='html'>I had a quick discussion with the roommate last night about my sign.  I'm not a huge astrology person.  I used to check yahoo's horiscopes daily when I dated this hippy guy, but once he and his patchoulli left me life, so did the horiscopes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, I looked up the definition of me.  I agree with most of it:&lt;br /&gt;Aquarians are always ahead of their time&lt;br /&gt;Aquarians form their own opinions, disregarding and perhaps even disdaining the orthodox&lt;br /&gt;They are open-minded but once they make a decision, their mind (at least on that subject) closes.&lt;br /&gt;They avoid routine and anything else that may lead to boredom. Aquarians are outgoing and find friends to share their adventures easily.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The part I'm not quite buying:&lt;br /&gt;Aquarians tend to avoid hard work and will fulfill their potential best working with ideas&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I do think most definitions of star signs tell us what we want to hear.  Notice above I only buy the good parts that I think apply to me.  Being the aquarian I am, I will be open-minded, but I've pretty much decided its bumpkiss.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1051530534617430281?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1051530534617430281/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1051530534617430281&amp;isPopup=true' title='5 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1051530534617430281'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1051530534617430281'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/aquarius.html' title='Aquarius'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>5</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-6526280787793904751</id><published>2008-11-05T07:24:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-05T07:34:13.810-06:00</updated><title type='text'>Republic of what??</title><content type='html'>Yesterday, I had a day.  It was going fine until 4 o'clock.  At 4 o'clock I had the pleasure of sitting across from a man and being treated like a 2 year old for an hour.  He seriously reeked of condescention. It was like he knew all the answers to his questions I was giving were wrong, even before I gave them.  After about fifteen minutes with him, all that was going through my head was "I really don't like you.  And I like everybody.  But you, no, you, I don't like."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;God it was awful.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I knew I had a work dinner.  So, I ran to the gym to get things off my chest. I maybe got in 20 minutes.  I just kept doing intervals on the treadmill.  Just something.  I hate being talked down to and was just so upset. I kept running and wearing myself out, then not running.  I must have looked really bipolar.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I ran out to Las Colinas for dinner at Republic.  I'm not even going to go into it, but the restaurant was horrible, the food was horrible.  Just really a waste of time.  Add on that I was in a combative mood.  This all led to a pretty horrendous meal.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;At the end, my boss pulled me aside, gave me a hug, and said "honey, you need to grow a thicker backbone.  Your not going to get ahead unless you can stand up for yourself."&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend, I start taking my testosterone shots I guess.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-6526280787793904751?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/6526280787793904751/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=6526280787793904751&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6526280787793904751'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/6526280787793904751'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/republic-of-what.html' title='Republic of what??'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-3603293593992635612</id><published>2008-11-04T13:18:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-04T13:24:42.419-06:00</updated><title type='text'>I'm stuck</title><content type='html'>As some may know, last January, my cell phone went caput when I was visiting a friend for vacation in Colorado. In my desperation, I went to a phone store and just bought the cheapest thing they had and signed a contract. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Its been a number of months and this poor little phone has slowly but surely disintegrated before my eyes. I don't think it helps that I drop it about once a week and generally treat it very unkindly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided over the weekend it was time to invest in a new phone.  I went over to TMobile to see what I could get.  They had all these new shiney phones that did everything but cook you breakfast.  They appearred to be reasonably priced, but then we started getting into the nitty gritty.  They were only reasonably priced if you were a new customer.  If you were an old customer, they were about the price of a mortgage payment.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I looked at the girl like she was crazy.  I didn't get it.  I've been a loyal customer for over 6 years, and I have to donate blood in order afford a phone, but I completely new person gets one half price.  What is up with that?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I shook my head and started walking out.  Do I really need a new phone that badly?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-3603293593992635612?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/3603293593992635612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=3603293593992635612&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3603293593992635612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3603293593992635612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/im-stuck.html' title='I&apos;m stuck'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-185444261709817842</id><published>2008-11-03T09:59:00.002-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-03T10:20:59.698-06:00</updated><title type='text'>November 24th</title><content type='html'>After November 24th, I fear no one will ever see me again.  Why you ask?  Because on November 24th I will officially get cable.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I know.  This is a big step.  Its been 4 years.  4 long years.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I called up AT&amp;T last Thursday and said I was interested in cable and (wait for it) internet.  YES, I am getting internet at home too.  Seriously, you will never see my face again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But, it's time to be an adult.  It's time to be able to grow up and manage my time.  I really think that if there is an 8 hour marathon of "Rock of Love" on VH1 I will be able to leave the house and still socialize, instead of cuddling up on my couch under a fuzzy afghan eating cheese and making fun of people.  Man that sure sounds nice though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The woman who signed me up for the service slowly walked me through all my options.  We first discussed cable.  I only wanted the 100 channel option, but it was pointed out to me that I could get the 200 channel option with the DVR for a year at the same price as the 100 channel option.  I kind of got a bit crazy and said yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm really going to be testing myself.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The internet should be interesting.  I fear I will have a permanent laptop imprint from having it sit on my lap all the time now.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;It was nice knowing all of you.  I will be stocking up on canned goods and supplies over the next couple of weeks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-185444261709817842?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/185444261709817842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=185444261709817842&amp;isPopup=true' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/185444261709817842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/185444261709817842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/11/november-24th.html' title='November 24th'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-3823949082234713204</id><published>2008-10-31T08:55:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-31T09:05:00.252-05:00</updated><title type='text'>East Wind</title><content type='html'>For some reason, I started writing this blog, and I had Neil Diamonds voice singing in my head "hello, again, hello".  Why you ask?  Because last night I caught up with two old friends, Elizabeth and an old eating haunt of ours East Wind.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We got there at 6:30 and talked and ate and ate and talked and pracically closed the place down.  It was good!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We started out with an Acacia pinot noir and an order of their tropical spring rolls.  I think it must be the mango and the crabmeat together.  I'm not sure, but something in those rolls just makes me a very happy girl.  Its got to be the mango.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I treated myself to the fried shrimp crepes.  I just love these.  They are pretty good at Mai's, but they are heaven at East Wind.  Not too fried.  With a nice side of lettuce and cilantro and a big bowl of fish sauce.  I'm just a mess when I eat these. I never wrap the lettuce around the crunchy crepe tight enough, and I get fish sauce all over my hands (and face), but once I actually get the food into my mouth, its just good stuff!!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;And you couldn't beat the conversation.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Ah East Wind, even though I don't visit you often, I do think about you fondly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-3823949082234713204?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/3823949082234713204/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=3823949082234713204&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3823949082234713204'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3823949082234713204'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/10/east-wind.html' title='East Wind'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-1928388029741103411</id><published>2008-10-30T07:36:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-30T07:48:42.613-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Newton's Third Law</title><content type='html'>"To every action there is an equal and opposite reaction"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I am a firm believer in doing exactly what you want to do.  I have no issue with that.  I do what I want to do all the time.  But, being who I am, one of the most responsible people that everyone knows, I always weigh the consequences before I dive headlong into the abyss.  I usually know in the back of my mind what might happen, and I have accepted the outcomes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A couple of weeks ago, I stood out on the edge of the diving board and looked down.  I bounced a couple of times up and down.  I wasn't sure about what I was taking on, but I decided in the end that this was what I needed to do.  And as I jumped off and folded myself into the pike position, I internally braced myself for the cold water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;(sorry, going through some crap.  i promise to get back to funny or food or funny food tomorrow)&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-1928388029741103411?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/1928388029741103411/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=1928388029741103411&amp;isPopup=true' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1928388029741103411'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/1928388029741103411'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/10/newtons-third-law.html' title='Newton&apos;s Third Law'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-3778490874854066041</id><published>2008-10-29T07:06:00.003-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-29T07:36:28.515-05:00</updated><title type='text'>My therapist</title><content type='html'>I have a trainer.  Her name is Mimi.  Once a week we meet up and workout for an hour.  Even though my body aches for a day after, I look forward to my visit with her.  I realized yesterday that one big reason is that for one hour a week I get to talk exclusively about "me".  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;She constantly asks me odd questions to get the conversation started.  I know she does this to get my mind off the 40 pounds of weights she has on my shoulders while I'm squatting.  But really, its nice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Usually the conversation starts at one place and slowly over time it veres this way and that, and by the end of the hour I'm sweating, I'm out of breath, and I just feel good.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Yesterday's conversation started out very simply.  I think I just walked out of the locker room, found her by the sign in desk, and said "Mimi, I appear to be mean to people these days.  I'm just warning you,", and we went from there.  At the end of the hour, I was feeling very zen.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I guess in a way, she is my therapist.  Once a week, I get a real full body and mind workout.  Maybe I should try to file a claim with my medical insurance and put her as an out of network clinician.  It could work?&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-3778490874854066041?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/3778490874854066041/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=3778490874854066041&amp;isPopup=true' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3778490874854066041'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/3778490874854066041'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/10/my-therapist.html' title='My therapist'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8625508794917267707.post-2849188275063766612</id><published>2008-10-28T10:19:00.002-05:00</published><updated>2008-10-28T10:29:37.315-05:00</updated><title type='text'>Concious Objector</title><content type='html'>When I was a young child, Halloween was about being scared and eating candy.  It was this lovely night where you got to dress up as something fun and eat candy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow in the last 10 years, Halloween has morphed into "sexy Halloween", the night when all women over the age of 14 dress up like whores and eat candy.  NO no no!  I'm not having it anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;About two weeks ago, I decided I was going to be a Bee for halloween.  I wanted to be a cute, fuzzy bumble bee.  So, I went online.  I thought I would get on the ball and order early.  Well, what did I find online.  400 stripper outfits.  Seriously, if you want to be a Bee for Halloween, just wear a yello bikini and a black tutu and your set.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Boo!  I say Boo!  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Down with sexy Halloween.  I'm dressing as something scary and I'm gonna eat some candy!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/8625508794917267707-2849188275063766612?l=vneidell.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/feeds/2849188275063766612/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=8625508794917267707&amp;postID=2849188275063766612&amp;isPopup=true' title='3 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2849188275063766612'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/8625508794917267707/posts/default/2849188275063766612'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://vneidell.blogspot.com/2008/10/concious-objector.html' title='Concious Objector'/><author><name>Victoria is only a wee bit crazy</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/06255745101287362951</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='32' height='18' src='http://bp1.blogger.com/_-U_wi0WqJ_Y/SFkvr3jvwxI/AAAAAAAAAAM/eD32cp_CEIo/S220/me+and+llama+2.JPG'/></author><thr:total>3</thr:total></entry></feed>
